


Untethered

by TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alien Planet, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Space, Beta Dean Winchester, Character Death (not Dean Cas Sam), Culture Shock, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mentions of childbirth, Mpreg (non explicit), Noncon (not sexual), Omega Castiel, Stargate Inspired, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Forced into a new life on an alien world, Dean must learn to rely on the land, an array of undiscovered skills and strengths, and a collective of people who are so very different—and yet so alike—in many ways.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't deserve the wonderful Jdragon122. Not only is the art STUNNING, she is unbelievably patient, ever-encouraging, flexible to change when things weren't coming along quickly, and an all around wonderful human being. She deserves all the love, you guys. 
> 
> My media for this Destiel story is Stargate, specifically an SG-1 episode where one of the main characters gets stuck on a humble farming planet for a time and ends up falling in love with a woman there. Eventually his team comes to rescue him. The rest of the inspiration comes from Stargate Atlantis in that Dean lives in Atlantis on the planet Lantea in the Pegasus Galaxy. Of course, I wanted Cas to be a little different from us regular ol' humans and ABO was the perfect solution.
> 
> You do NOT need to know Stargate or that episode to enjoy this story. This is not a cross-over. This is set nearly a thousand years into the future after humanity has had a hard reset and has had to rebuild (freakily enough, I was writing before the current events of real life). I try to explain all of the devices and Lantean technology as best that I can.
> 
> Warnings: Dubious Consent

**PROLOGUE**

Dean is drifting, forgotten in the pool of deep dark, dazedly wondering why he hasn’t turned into a frozen humansicle.

In the great, far distance a planet comes into view and then another and another, each a silent marble with swirling colors of volatile storms and acidic rains, worlds too unstable for a frail and infinitesimal human. Each so beautiful but in a lonely, untouchable way. 

And then he sees it, his salvation. She’s nothing more than a dot in the distance at first, spinning unhurriedly on her axis all the while luring Dean in closer and closer until he can more clearly see the beautiful orb and distinguish between forest greens and ocean blues beneath streaky cotton tufts of white. She looks just like the pictures he’s seen of Earth. 

The closer he gets to her, the more his body gains speed. He grows heavier and heavier as he breaches the atmosphere, once floating free, he’s helpless to fall. Noise has returned now and it’s a new deafening that will likely crush his bones to ash and devour him whole. 

Gravity, so relentless, sucks Dean down to the earthen world in dizzying whorls of light and color and then blackness, slamming him back to life with a sickening and painful jolt. 

He gasps, eyes flying open.   
  


  
_ Pegasus Galaxy _

_The Planet Lantea_ _  
_ _The City of Atlantis_ _  
_ _Year 3007_ _  
_ _  
_“Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” ~ Marilyn Monroe  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The good thing about routine is that a man always knows what comes next. After breakfast is a workout. After a workout is a shower. After a shower is clocking in for work, then doing said work, lunch, working some more, and so on and so forth until falling into bed for the night and waking up to repeat it all over again the next day.  
  
The worst part about routine is the very thing that makes it good: the predictability.   
  
Dean isn’t just unsettled by living a Groundhog Day kinda life, he’s bored out of his fucking skull. And, yeah, there’s stuff to do to shake it up but it’s the same mix of stuff he’s always had available to him. He’s seen the newish art gallery filled with reproductions of items sent from Earth like they’re a goddamn storage shed, and he’s overdone both the shooting range and the gym.   
  
It’s getting to be a harder and harder pill to swallow to know that beyond the bubble of his limited existence, there exist worlds of adventure, culture, and undiscovered mysteries. Places filled with things that are new and stimulating just beyond reach...  
  
Sometimes, though, the entertainment comes to him which is what makes today more exciting than yesterday and the many days preceding it. Today is the day a new crew arrives from the Milky Way. From Earth to be exact.   
  
The incoming newbs are coming to Atlantis for obvious reasons. They’re usually fresh-faced scientists and researchers and linguists in any number of professional fields from horticulture and botany to biomechanics and nano tech. (And there’re usually a handful of good-looking and god-willing ladies to stir up the already limited dating pool.) With stars in their eyes, they’re ready for the excitement of living on a planet in another galaxy.  
  
But the ones that are outgoing are usually retirees. They're tired. They’ve seen it all. They want roots. They want open skies and dry land without the constant threat of invasion looming overhead. Or, they happen to be the people who never have left Atlantis because their jobs never take them off-world. They've gotten that restless itch that Dean has begun to feel crawling beneath his own skin. That in itself is worrisome because it’s not like he can, or wants to, just leave. Despite the monotony, his life is here. His _family_ is here.   
  
“Hey, Dean,” Charlie says loudly, drawing him back to the noisy mess hall where he’s been sitting and staring at his uneaten slab of cooling lasagna. “Get with the program.”  
  
Dean shoots her an annoyed glare. “You get with the program,” he shoots back, picking up his fork and cutting off a bite that’s a smidge too large and working it into his mouth.  
  
“You not get enough sleep last night, princess? You were really zoned out there. Didn’t even react when I started talking about the time I was in an orgy with a three-headed alien.”  
  
Dean chokes, some of the marinara sauce nearly shooting out his nose. He manages to swallow down the wad of pasta and cheese. “What the hell?” he asks, coughing roughly.  
  
“What the hell, the orgy? Or what the hell, the alien?”  
  
“You’ve only been here and on Earth so trick question. There is no three-headed alien. Taking that into account, on what planet would I ever want to hear about you being in any orgy?”  
  
“Exactly how I knew you weren’t listening. You didn’t even gag. So what gives?”  
  
Dean shrugs and takes another big bite to avoid answering. It’s actually pretty good lasagna. Ellen knows her way around the kitchen and makes some pretty damn good stuff from whatever they grow out in the greenhouses and from whatever stock is brought in from the quarterly shipments from Earth. They don’t exactly have factories in Atlantis that make and package food in bulk. Not yet anyway.  
  
“So what time does the fresh meat arrive?” he asks.  
  
“The fresh meat-meat or the _fresh meat?_ ” Charlie wiggles her brows and laughs. “Technically the food and the people will arrive about the same time which should be, oh, in another hour.” Her smile fades. “We should go find Rufus and get a hug in, don’t you think?”  
  
“I think,” Dean looks away, uncomfortable with the idea that yet another person he knows is leaving, “he’s probably busy getting ready to go. We’ll see him at the ceremony.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re right. He probably wouldn’t want me bugging him anyway.” Charlie worries her lip and gives Dean a sidelong look. “Well, I need to get back to the control room.”   
  
“Are you still shadowing Frank or are they gonna finally take off the training wheels?”  
  
“I’ve only been here eight months,” Charlie says carefully instead of saying what they both already know. Frank is one loose marble away from being locked up in a padded room, and that’s putting it nicely. His paranoia and fear only gets worse as the years go by. Throw in a practice drill for what to do in the event that an adversary raids the city and whatever knee-jerk delusional reaction Frank has could result in an unplanned self-destruct or, worse, an actual enemy takeover.   
  
“They gotta let him go already,” Dean complains. “I was pissed when I didn’t see him on the list of people transferring to Earth.”  
  
“I know, I know. But that’s why they brought Ash and me over here to train. You do know there’s nothing like this place back home, right? The only way we were going to learn these systems was to come here and use them. Another four months will be our one-year anniversary of being here, and the next scheduled connection to Earth, so…”   
  
“So hopefully bye-bye, Frank.”  
  
“What did that man _do_ to you?”  
  
“Other than constantly undermining me when I’m trying to do my job? Or blaming me for shit I didn’t even do? Plus, I gotta know I can trust the person controlling the big ass gate that stands between us and any number of monsters.”  
  
“Aw, does this mean you trust me?” Charlie glances at her wrist and jumps up to her feet. “Seriously, I gotta go. Can you take care of--” she gestures toward her tray and scurries off before finishing her request.  


“Don’t worry about me,” he says to himself. “I’ll take care of everything.”    


  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**  
  
Dean has no direction in mind, nowhere he has to go, and nothing he has to do. He contentedly relaxes into the leather saddle of the whinnying and snorting behemoth beneath him, continuing on a lazy scout of the land that stretches out before him.  
  
Dotted around the furthest edges of what he can see, beyond the pastures where he’s taking his leisurely equestrian stroll, are clusters of mature trees. Their branches stretch heavenward, swaying in an invisible wind, shaking loose leaves that have turned into rich coppers, soft pinks, and garnet reds.  
  
The horse’s hair also snaps around in the air before him but he can’t feel the wind.  
  
He can’t smell the stir of dead autumn leaves being kicked up and circulated in the air around him, or the sweat of his horse, or the dirt being kicked up by thick hooves.  
  
He doesn’t feel the heat of the sun nor the coolness of the breeze.  
  
He looks down, momentary vertigo slamming into him for moving after being still for so long. His gloved hands look odd, not quite realistic but not glaringly cartoonish either. They look more like a moving painting. One hand is loosely holding the reins and the other is curled over the round pommel.  
  
The illusion never lasts long, no matter how hard he tries to pretend. He’s too familiar with the technology now to be able to fully immerse himself into virtual reality like he could do when he was a starry-eyed and impressionable kid.  
  
Still, even knowing that he’s in a fantasy world doesn’t negate the fact that this is one of the only places where he finds both peace and a sense of belonging.  
  
The simulator belonged to his parents and as he often does when he’s here, he thinks about them, trying to imagine what it must’ve been like nearly thirty years ago, how it felt to be chosen to make a space voyage to not only another planet, but to a whole other galaxy.  
  
It was the year 2972 when Mary Campbell, a pilot, and John Winchester, a mechanical engineer--along with dozens of other experts in their respective fields--were chosen to return to the city of Atlantis through Earth’s rediscovered Stargate program.  
  
Of course, at the time, Mary and John had been mere strangers, thrust together on a project to repair and test fly the many abandoned Lantean spacecrafts around the city. They became close friends, fell in love, had a couple of bouncing baby boys, and the rest is history.  
  
Everyone who had come to Atlantis back then was highly aware that it was going to be their new home for the foreseeable future, if not for the rest of their lives. But coming from a planet of lush greenery, snow-capped mountains, and great gold plains to a gleaming metal-and-glass, floating city-ship that was stationed in the center of an oceanic planet was an understatement of an adjustment.  
  
Mary had missed nature and many of Earth’s creatures. While some smaller ones were brought over to be kept for food, like chickens, Atlantis offered no means to sustain, nor had any reason to keep, larger livestock like horses. If she was lucky, she’d get to visit a planet that had horses or similar creatures but they were often too busy to do much more than pet an animal in passing and continue onto negotiations and peace treaties and whatever other orders of business were taking place.  
  
So in his free time, John would use whatever spare materials that he could find around the city in order to build a virtual horse for Mary so that she could get as close to riding as possible. Eventually, he built a second one that synced with hers so that they could ride together.  
  
The contraptions had been too large to keep in their apartment so the automatrons had been hidden away inside of an unused room in what is now considered an entertainment district. It’s where they’ve stayed for these many years, forgotten about by most and for those that do remember, like Dean, there’s an unspoken agreement not to move them, especially after what ended up happening to Mary and then later to John...  
  
Dean allows the tireless horse to continue to trot along until it comes to a burbling stream for a drink it doesn’t really need. She bows her head and laps up clear water while Dean calmly eyes the blurry horizon.  
  
A door opens and softly shuts. Someone has entered the room he’s in. A few seconds later, his viewfinder flickers when the second VR set is activated and syncs but he doesn’t bother to look over to see who the rider could be. There’s only one person who would come in here and his suspicions are confirmed when a tri-color mare joins Dean’s coal black girl at the water.  
  
“Knew you were riding,” Sam says, his actual voice loud and jarring in the room, more clear than the quiet and garbled nature audio coming through in Dean’s VR headset.  
  
“Did me sitting on half of a robotic horse with a VR helmet strapped to my face give it away?”  
  
“That’s not what I meant. I meant that when you disappear, you’re either at the gym hitting a punching bag or back here. Makes finding you easier on me.”  
  
Suppressing a sigh, Dean sits up straighter and tugs the thin leather reins on the stationary, animatronic horse that he’s straddling. The motion is a preprogrammed prompt that causes Baby to step away from the water. She turns and sets off walking in a new direction. Sam’s horse follows and they walk along under the bright autumnal sun for about awhile before Dean speaks.  
  
“You wouldn’t come looking unless you needed something so what is it? Another light panel to fix? A comm system down in someone’s quarters?”  
  
Sam huffs. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to see you?”  
  
Dean shrugs and closes his eyes, trying to hold onto the sensation of riding a horse and wondering for the millionth time if this simulation is even half as accurate as the real deal. He’s missed part of what Sam was saying so he opens his eyes to scan the horizon and tries to focus on his brother’s voice.  
  
“--been working too hard. It feels like we never see you and our quarters are on the same damn floor.”  
  
“I’ve been busy.”  
  
Sam is quiet for a moment and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “This isn’t about Mom, is it?”  
  
Dean grips the reins harder. “Don’t. I don’t wanna do that. Not in _here_.” This prairie, his safe space.  
  
It’s Sam’s turn to sigh, though he seems more resigned than frustrated. What matters to Dean is that his brother doesn’t try to force him to confront the upcoming anniversary that he dreads more than anything. The twenty-fourth anniversary of the day their mother’s life was drained away by one of those soul-sucking wraiths that call themselves the Leviathan.  
  
They ride together a little longer, horse heads bobbing, complete with all the horsey nickering and snorty sound effects. Dean can’t help but look over at his brother to gauge the mood now. It’s disconcerting, even if they grew up with the technology, to see his brother as an animated avatar. He knows it’s a virtual imitation of a person but it still kinda freaks Dean out and he’s pretty sure he’s gonna have nightmares tonight of that vacant face.  
  
“Some things never change,” Sam murmurs after a long pause.  
  
“Don’t fix what ain’t broken,” Dean says smartly. “S’what I say.”

“Yeah, suppose you’re right but change can be good, too. Speaking of,” Sam perks up, “you know how they made one of the unused buildings on the West Pier into an art gallery?”  
  
Did Dean ever. It has only become _the_ hot spot for date nights. Not his date nights, no. He doesn’t really have those lately and if he did, he wouldn’t be nerding it up. Considering most of the people of Atlantis are nerds, it’s perfect for everyone else, though. Much of Atlantis is still restricted access and the resident lovebirds have gotten bored with balcony picnics overlooking the ocean. The gallery is something new with fresh things to discover.  
  
“Anyway, they did,” Sam says when Dean doesn’t answer. “Stargate Command started sending art reproductions with each resupply so they could be preserved here in case Atlantis ever becomes abandoned like it has a couple times now. And in case they lose things over there to another Trump-level ecological catastrophe.”  
  
“I think I just got whiplash from this subject change. What’s up with the history rehash?”  
  
“Eileen and I went yesterday to see it,” Sam says without missing a beat. “So get this. Earth had a city on water, too. Venice. It wasn’t anything like Atlantis by a long shot but the paintings of it were real cool. Really pretty. I wonder if it’s still there or if it ever sunk.”  
  
“Well, next time Atlantis sends reports back to Earth, you be sure to include a whole list of pointless stuff to ask ‘em about it.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I will,” Sam says distractedly.  
  
The mood has shifted and Dean is picking up some serious anxiousness coming from his brother. Sam only ever gets rambly like this when he’s hiding something. He hadn’t even had a comeback for Dean’s jab at his unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Then again, Sam is a research scientist so maybe he’s finally gotten used to the idea that Dean will forever taunt him about it.  
  
Still… it doesn’t hurt to ask. “You okay?”  
  
“Pfft. Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just that I--I finally did it and I wanted you to know. I asked Eileen to marry me.” Sam chuckles nervously. “It was in front of the Millennial Gallery. Now that was an interesting collection…”  
  
Even though he knew it was probably gonna happen sooner or later, a ripple of intense emotion rips through Dean. It starts with a sense of betrayal that Sam hadn’t even told him that he was gonna propose, evolves briefly into envy over the connection that they have, then nostalgia for their youth, and ends somewhere in the realm of pride.  
  
At the end of the day, Sam is his brother and he’s gonna be happy for him, even if he struggles with feeling like he’s being left behind while everyone moves onward and upward.  
  
Feigning indifference, though, because big brothers are shitheads sometimes, Dean shrugs a shoulder that he belatedly realizes Sam can’t even see. “So... what’d she say?”  
  
“She said yes, you jerk,” Sam exclaims, laughing a little breathlessly. “And now you’re gonna say yes because you know I’m gonna ask you to be my best man.”  
  
“You don’t even gotta ask. You know I’ll be your best man. I’d tell you to c’mere and let me give you a big man hug but we’re both kinda busy at the moment.”  
  
“Then make it up to me. Get your ass out of this boring, outdated VR and come help me celebrate.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Dean swallows. It’s not like they ever sat down and had a heart-to-heart about how freeing it is to ride so can’t fault his bro for not knowing how he feels, but he also can’t pretend that hearing Sam diss it is okay. “I got a couple more minutes left and then I’ll meet you in the mess hall, alright?”  
  
“Okay, don’t take forever.” Avatar Sam and the horse disappear into thin air as Sam hastily disconnects.  
  
Dean waits a minute to make doubly sure that Sam has left him alone in the physical room before he slaps the reins as hard as he can, spurring Baby into a blur of a run. If Dean uses those final minutes to ride off the hollowness in his chest, well then, his brother will be none the wiser.

  
  
  


“Hey, I’m gonna need Ash to get over here and help me make heads-n-tails of a console,” Dean instructs over his walkie talkie.

He and a few other mechanics are currently in the South Pier of Atlantis, systematically going room-to-room in an effort to uncover any hidden gems of the not-so-lost-anymore city. 

They’ve been peeling back her many layers, building after building and room after room, ever since Stargate Command’s epic return to Atlantis.   
  
“You got it, boss,” comes the reply from Charlie over the radio. “Do you need my wildly amazing expertise, too? I’m free in five.”  
  
“Knock yourself out. I won’t turn down help and good company.”  
  
“I think I’ll keep you,” she says with a light laugh. “You’re good for my ego. Okay, see you soon.”

Dean pokes at the dark buttons on the console to see if it’ll activate. More than likely, its power cell is depleted and will need to be recharged, which is where Ash comes in. Dean’s just a mechanic so he doesn’t mess with the sciencey electrical stuff. And by that he means crystalline power technology.  
  
Sure, sure, he can do some of it. He’s kinda a jack-of-all-trades but Ash is the real wizard with restoring power and really rounds out their trio into a real dream team. Ash brings the power, Dean fixes any broken machinations, and Charlie figures out what every console, computer, or doohickey is supposed to do.  
  
“Alright, Dean, what do you have for me today?” Ash greets as he strolls into the small, enclosed room. Other than the console in the center of the room, there are two darkened flatscreen panels on the wall that won’t turn on.  
  
“Looks like it might be an alternate control system for one of the drone stations but it’s dead.”  
  
Drones are one of the main defenses of Atlantis, projectile weapons that are controlled telekinetically by anyone with Lantean DNA. He can’t say that he’s surprised that they’ve finally come across a manual way to fire them without requiring mind-power considering how dangerous it is for the inexperienced to try to control a lethal weapon with just their thoughts. “Won’t power on for me.”  
  
“Hmm, maybe. Let me just…” Ash steps up to it to look over the different prompts and buttons so Dean moves around back and pops open the small hatch for him to access the power core.  
  
They switch again, a familiar dance from working together regularly. Ash is just removing the small, burnt out bundle of crystals from within that backdoor when Charlie joins them.  
  
“What’s up my bitches?”  
  
“Oh, you know, same old techno problems that we always have. No power,” Dean says, throwing an arm across her shoulder while they watch Ash mumble to himself and fiddle with things.  
  
Each of their walkie talkies come alive at the same time since they’re all on the same channel. “Hey, can I get Ash to give me a hand?” Garth asks.  
  
“Yeah, where’d you end up? I’m still in room S-978,” he replies.  
  
“Just a couple doors down. Let me guess, he’s already with you?”  
  
“You know it. I’ll send him over in a sec.”  
  
“As enthralling as this is,” Charlie says, “it’s past lunch. What do you say we leave Ash here to gather up all the power cells on this floor because you know he’ll need to and we go get some grub? There’s nothing I can do until we can turn it all on.”  
  
Dean is halfway to starving. “You cool with that, Ash?”  
  
“No problemo but bring me a sandwich. No egg salad.” Ash shudders, cradling the crystals to his stomach. “Last time I had it, things didn’t end so well.”  
  
Charlie and Dean exchange looks of disgust and then head to the elevators at the end of the long corridor on this floor. Even though they’re on the South Pier of a city with a mass of roughly twenty-two miles, the transporter elevator brings them to the West Pier almost instantly.  
  
“Taquito Tuesday,” Dean exclaims when he walks into the mess and sees the buffet of food that the cooks have prepared for the midday meal. There’s even rice and beans to round out the rolled up and fried tortillas filled with a creamy chicken center. “I forgot it was Tuesday. The days are all starting to blend together, ya know?”  
  
“Actually, I’m glad you mentioned that.” Charlie takes a tray and passes him one before grabbing one for herself. “It’s the perfect segue for me to tell you that I’ve been thinking that you need a change of scenery.”  
  
Dean snorts, scooping a hearty helping of fragrant rice onto one of the recesses on his tray. “You’ve been thinking about me needing to get out more, huh?”  
  
“I mean, yeah. You never leave. You’ve never even visited Earth. And before you say it, going once when you were a baby doesn’t even come close to counting because you don’t remember it. Have you thought about taking a ride along the ol’ wormhole to go and see where your parents and ancestors are from?”  
  
The Stargate--which isn’t a single gate but actually a multi-gate system--creates a stable subspace bridge between two different gates. It is one of their main modes of interplanetary travel. Dial up a sequence of symbols for the planet-of-choice, much like an address, and the Gate creates a timespace portal that allows the traveler to step through one and almost instantly appear on the other side in the other.  
  
Seems simple in theory to be dematerialized and sent through a galactic wormhole tunnel faster than the speed of light to the far ends of the galaxy but, to put it plainly, it freaks Dean the fuck out.  
  
“Do I want to go into the large ring of death that could re-materialize me into a giant two-legged foot on the other side? No thanks.”  
  
Charlie laughs. “Dude, you were just transported here on the elevator.”  
  
“That’s different. It doesn’t turn us into atom soup and shoot us through a space asshole.” Dean pouts and slaps a spoon full of beans onto his tray. “Besides, the Gate uses too much power to connect all the way to Earth,” he reminds her, though she probably doesn’t need reminding that the two places are in completely different galaxies; Earth in the Milky Way, Atlantis in the Pegasus. They do have a halfway station but, even then, they have to conserve energy and so they’ve got scheduled connections. They just had the one so the next isn’t for several weeks.  
  
“Maybe you should put in a request to go out on Valor then,” Charlie suggests thoughtfully, referring to the spaceship that they use for the intergalactic exploration of worlds that may not have a Stargate that they could otherwise connect with. Since he isn’t a member of any exploration crew, he’d have to ask to go and give a damn good reason for why he’s asking.  
  
“They don’t need some grease monkey taking up space on an exploration mission.” He puts up a hand when Charlie opens her mouth to argue. “C’mon, Charlie. I’m a mechanic, not a mechanical engineer. I get the ship flight-ready and I repair shit that needs repairing when it returns. But I don’t fly along. They got smarter guys for the in-flight side of it so there’s no point in my going. What do I got to offer? Nothing.”  
  
Sighing dramatically, Charlie stabs a fork into the taco salad she had made for herself. “You’re smarter and more invaluable than you give yourself credit for. _And,_ ” she says emphatically, “maybe part of the point of going is that you _don’t_ do anything. You’re restless. Take a vacation. Sightsee. Get cultured.” She stuffs the greens into her mouth and chews loudly.  
  
“Whatever. Why are you pushing this?”  
  
“I may have,” Charlie shoves another forkful of salad into her mouth, smearing dressing at one corner of her lips, “ _putinarequestforyou_ .”  
  
“What now? I couldn’t hear around your half-masticated leaves. Did you say you put in a request for me? To get on a fucking ship?” The last word comes out in an embarrassing falsetto squeak.  
  
Charlie smiles, her cheeks puffed out from her lunch, and shrugs her small shoulders. “Sam's scheduled. He signed as a referral, too. Two against one, Dean, so you may as well give in and enjoy the ride. Literally.”  
  
Dean throws himself back in his chair and groans, running a hand down his face. Part of him is pissed they’ve been talking about him and have gone behind his back. Another part of him is curious if it was approved but he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of showing his interest by asking.  
  
Her expression softening, Charlie reaches across the table with her hand turned up in supplication. “We only did it because we care about you, Dean. You should get out there and have fun. It isn’t like you’re some scaredy cat.”  
  
“Damn right I’m not afraid.” Okay, maybe a little. But mostly because there is so much unknown out there. He’s a creature of habit and sticks to what he knows and what he knows is the city.  
  
“Alright, so if you’re approved, you’re going.”  
  
“Guess so,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t think he’s as upset about it as he probably should be.  
.


	3. Chapter 3

His request to board the ship for recreational purposes was approved since it was a negotiation meeting and trade--pretty harmless and standard stuff with this particular planet. He got the big physical to check his health, got the nanite vaccine to prevent him from giving or receiving disease, packed his bags, but then never got off of Valor. He was instructed not to until he was cleared to disembark but whatever it was that Jo’s team was after, they got it quick and hightailed it out of there before Dean could grab his jacket.   
  
The whole reason he even came along was because other people wanted him to sightsee and catch a spark of a wanderlust in his heart so he’d find an occupation that didn’t keep him in a hangar and under space vehicles.   
  
So he's slightly annoyed and hopes that he gets to find out just what was so worth returning an entire crew so fast when he gets called to the Bridge, to the Captain’s ready room specifically. Curiously, he goes only for Captain Jo Harvelle to greet him from behind her desk to tell him that she’s putting him to work.  
  
“Hey, Dean. Just the man I want to see about fixing up my radio. I’ve been informed that I’m coming through garbled.”

“You know I’d love to, but I don’t exactly got any tools on me. And I only came aboard on some forced vacation, remember?”

“The tool thing is not a problem. No Captain is worth her title if she isn’t prepared.” Jo gets up and goes to a cabinet at the far wall, pulling out a small toolkit that isn’t much bigger than her tablet computer.

“You mean your dad is prepared,” Dean smirks because he knows that his childhood friend is only Captain on this mission because Bobby Singer is tied up in political affairs back on Atlantis. “Ya know, since this is Bobby’s ship and you’re filling in for him. His bridge, his tools.”

“Watch it, Winchester,” she warns, setting the canvas bag down on her desk next to a couple of strange looking artifacts and an empty metal box. She pulls the walkie talkie from the pocket on the front of her shirt and holds it out. “Can you fix it or not?”

“Have you tried turning it off and back on,” he jokes, taking it from her and turning it over in his hand. “Tech stuff isn’t really my pay grade. I fix engines and belts. I check fluids, filters, all that crap.”

“Just try?” Jo rolls her eyes. 

“Why not have one of your regulars do this?” Even as he is complaining about doing it, he leans over the desk and pokes around for a small screwdriver in Bobby’s bag of tools. 

“They’re a little busy at the moment. The planet that we’re leaving, Coradonia, is one of the more highly advanced races we’ve come across. They were amazing.”  
  
He snorts.   
  
“They gave us blueprints for a warp drive unlike anything we’ve had before so my regular guys in engineering are doing some maintenance to see how we can apply it to Valor. Oh, and we acquired these,” she says proudly, indicating the oval shaped planchette and a gaudy necklace he had noticed on her desk. 

“They gave you a bile-green rock and a gaudy necklace?” Dean scoffs, sparing a glance at the hand-sized objects. 

“You’re a jerk. If you really knew what these were, you’d be impressed.”

“Doubt it.”

Jo hums and he looks up to find her watching him. She licks her lips and leans over the desk, whispering, “I can’t tell you everything but if I do tell you something, it’d stay between us, right?”

“Okay?”

“This isn’t just some old rock.” She touches her fingertips gently to the green stone that is caged within a metal frame. Other than its odd coffin shape, it’s innocuous and looks more like a decorative paperweight than anything significant. “It’s a personal shield emitter and it’s activated by people with the Lantean DNA gene.”

Much of the technology in the city of Atlantis, which is located on the oceanic planet Lantea, works in response to biological components. Specifically DNA of the original race to inhabit said city, people who have been aptly dubbed The Ancients. And because of the ties between Earth and Atlantis, there are even some Earthlings that have the gene. Jo doesn’t but Dean happens to be one of the lucky sonofaguns. 

Intrigued, he looks at it more closely and reaches out to touch it to see if it’ll light up as most devices do when he comes into contact with the Lantean tech. 

“Hey, you know better than to touch stuff with your bare hands before you know all about what it can do, doofus. From the research I was just reading up on, it can be tricky to control. If you activate it, you may not be able to get it off.”

“What’s it exactly shield someone from?”

“This is where it gets interesting. Dean,” she says excitedly, “it shields from just about anything and it appears to be mostly motivated by fear. Place it in the center of your chest and an invisible field will generate around you to keep you safe. You could leap from hundreds of thousands of feet and crash without breaking a nail.”

“And it’s a bad thing if it doesn’t come off? Sounds awesome, especially the part about, ya know, surviving a freefall.” He shudders. He hates heights. Falling would definitely cause him pant-shitting fear. 

“Well, it also prevents things like food from getting near your mouth. If you can’t get the thing to deactivate, you could survive being shot at with an array of weapons but you could still starve to death because not even a crumb of cheese will penetrate the forcefield it would create around you.”

“Huh.” He thinks about that for a moment. “What about breathing then?”

“It must allow oxygen or contain enough to sustain a person?” Jo looks surprised, like she hadn’t thought of that. She picks up her tablet with a furrowed brow. “I’d have to read more on it. All I know is that someone in the original Stargate Atlantis crew, uh,” she squints at the screen, eyes skimming quickly, “a Dr. McKay, had possession of one and wore it for many, many hours. He could breathe.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, returning to her communications issue. The radio itself is fine as far as he can see so he moves to a transmitter panel on the wall behind her to see if it is causing the interference. “So what about the costume jewelry? Does it shoot lasers? Read minds? Juggle?”

Jo holds up the necklace and inspects it. The palm-sized pendant looks like an enormous letter O piggybacking on an A, the former made out of a yellow gold and the latter a red bronze. 

She sighs. “This is the one I can’t really talk about. I guess I can at least tell you that it contains a homing beacon of some sort and we still don’t know exactly how it works. It’s newer tech but there’s hardly any information on it.”

“Crazy,” Dean mutters, uninterested in the jewelry, especially when he thinks he’s figured out the communication issue. He holds up the radio. “Aha, I think I got it. Testing, testing. Benny? Tell me you hear me.”

The radio sparks to life in Dean’s hand with an incoming response. “I hear you loud and clear, um, Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I was fixing this up for Jo—I mean, the Captain. Talk to you later, man. Winchester over and out.” He passes the device back to Jo and begins putting the few tools he used back.

“Thanks, Dean. Do you think I could ask you another favor? Time is kinda of the essence. I need someone to take these over to the research lab on board so they can continue to study them.” Jo begins wrapping the personal shield in fabric and places it in the plain metal box so he can’t touch it. 

“Yeah, no prob, Boss.” 

Jo wrinkles her nose and comes around from behind the desk, placing the necklace around his neck. “Here, in case you trip so you don’t drop it and lose it.”

“Hilarious.” He tucks the ugly thing under his shirt with his dog tag. He braces himself in anticipation of cold metal touching his skin but it feels warm. 

“And here is the shield. You must solemnly swear that you will not open this box or touch this, Dean,” she insists, holding it but not letting him take it from her hands yet. “No funny business.”

“Dude, okay.”

“Promise me, Dean.”

“I promise not to fuck around with your precious rock.” He looks down at the box and back up at her through his lashes, grinning mischievously. “It would be kinda fun.”  
  
“I will personally find a way to get it off of you and kill you if you do, do you understand? I will not watch you slowly starve to death.”   
  
“Okay, got it. If I touch, I’m a dead man either way.”   
  
“Damn right.” Jo smiles and brushes an invisible hair out of the way. Her hair is tied back in a severe bun, not an errant strand in sight. “Now that business is out of the way, I’ve been wanting to ask you something more… personal. I was wondering if you'd want to get dinner with me? Lee is taking his dinner now and then he’ll relieve me for the rest of the night,” she says, Lee being her second-in-command.   
  
“Hell yeah,” he says brightly and she exhales in relief. “You know you can always sit with me and Sam.”   
  
“Oh,” Jo says, blinking a few times. “No, Dean, I meant just you and me.”   
  
That sounds like something more than personal and bordering romantic. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. How does he turn down the girl who’s like a sister to him, a woman who also happens to be flying what is basically a building through space? A ship that he’s on. He may need the personal shield after all when she kicks his ass off-board.

Kevin's voice interrupts them, ringing out loudly with an urgent message. Dean would like to breathe a sigh of relief and say that Kevin has saved his bacon from this awkward situation but the young pilot’s words make his blood run cold. 

“Captain, a Leviathan vessel--it--it came out of nowhere.”  
  
“Shields,” Jo commands instantly, rushing out to the Bridge. The Leviathan aren’t ones for negotiating. They consume whatever humans come across their path without a second thought. “Turn the ship com on, Ensign Banes.” At Alicia Bane’s nod Jo addresses the entire ship, her voice echoing in the bridge as she fires out orders. “This is Captain Harvelle. Code Leviathan.” 

A blinding blast hits their ship but they barely feel it, the shield holding.   
  
“Why aren’t we just booking it?” Dean asks when the ship doesn’t appear to move.   
  
“Engineering was busy, remember?” Jo says through gritted teeth. “They know what they need to do under this code and at their ready, we’ll get out of here.”   
  
Another blast and another, one right after another. Alarms begin blaring. Everyone frantically tries to keep their asses on their seats and do their job to assess the damages and compensate for them but they’re not a damn war vessel so they can only do so much.   
  
“Talk to me,” Jo orders, remaining close to Alicia so she can look over her shoulder.   
  
“Defense stations are manned and a dozen drones have been deployed,” Benny recites from his position at the front right of the Bridge. “Each has hit their target. Minimal damage to the Leviathan's hive ship.”   
  
“Are the Leviathan sending out darts?” Jo asks, referring to the Leviathan’s smaller, single-pilot ships.   
  
“No, Captain. We are being attacked by the main hive ship only at this time. Shield is holding at only twenty percent.”   
  
The hits keep coming and Dean can’t do anything but stand there clutching the dumb box against his stomach, watching as each drone blast bursts into a red bloom and fizzles out against the wraith’s shield like a dying firework.   
  
The next hit rocks Valor to its core and nearly sets him flat on his ass. Luckily, he catches himself with one hand on the back of Kevin’s chair, still holding onto the box with his other. Not so luckily, Jo loses her balance and falls backward, smacking the back of her head on a console with a sickening crack.   
  
“Captain,” Alicia cries out.   
  
“I got her,” Dean says, dropping down to Jo’s side immediately. He finds her pulse but she’s out cold and there’s no time to go get the doctor on board, Lisa. He may be a mechanic but he won’t make it to Engineering fast enough to help fix any engine problem.   
  
“They--they breached the shield,” Kevin says in shock. “And we’ve lost the ability to travel, at least fast enough to get away.”   
  
“What?” Dean snaps. 

“They took out the hyperdrive. We’re sitting ducks. They knew exactly where to hit—“

“What do you need me to do?” Dean yells over the commotion that ramps up as Kevin panics, unable to stand being helpless any longer.   
  
No one answers him. Hell, they probably didn’t hear him. They’re all too busy barking orders and arguing with one another.   
  
“We gotta abandon ship,” he murmurs. He's not gonna just sit by and watch their ship go up in flames with everyone in it, and since Jo’s second-in-command is inconveniently MIA, he’s gotta step up. 

Without any further hesitation, Dean gets up off of the floor and slams a hand down on the telecommunication button next to Alicia, startling the frazzled young woman. His voice bellows over everyone else via the speakers, “This is Winchester. Everyone’s asses to the hangar. Get in escape pods, cloak ‘em, and set them on auto to return to Atlantis. Now!” 

Obediently, everyone in the bridge rises and rushes out. No one has time to give him shit for his lack of etiquette or even argue about him being the one to give the order since he had refrained from mentioning that the captain is down. People are already panicking and he doesn’t need to add to the bedlam. They’re a merchant team, not soldiers. Self-preservation and survival will win nine times outta ten. 

Or, in this case, two out of ten. The only people who remain are Dean and Benny along with their unconscious captain. 

“Get outta here,” Dean commands, taking Kevin’s empty chair, setting the box down firmly in an empty space toward the top of the pilot console, and taking stock of what looks like a million or so flashing buttons. 

“Can’t do that, Chief.” Benny stays firmly planted before his computer, sweat on his brow, his fingers sure as they deftly move across his keys. 

They’re hit with another blast and more alarms start blaring warnings about yet another breach. 

“Mother fuckers,” Dean bites out. “I hate these assholes.”

It’s a gross understatement but he doesn’t have time to process any of it. Maybe one day their people will have justice but today doesn’t appear to be that day. 

“Without the shield, we can withstand maybe half-a-dozen hits if I can keep them from hitting the generators but either way, we’re gonna be toast.”

“It’s okay, Benny, I got it,” Dean lies. “Go make sure everybody’s out and get your own ass home to notify SGC.” Now that they have a general idea of where the Leviathan may have been hibernating, it’s crucial that as many of the crew make it out alive as possible.

“What about you?” Benny hesitates, turning around and looking at Dean with uncertainty. 

“Can’t leave this ship unmanned. One of us has to create a diversion and the other has to carry the captain outta here. I can’t do both so grab her and run.”

“But—“

“You’ve got a wife to get back to, damn it,” Dean says angrily. “So you’re the one goin’. Now quit wasting time that we don’t got.”

“Alright,” Benny relents, easily bending and lifting the captain into his arms. Her usually tidy, blonde hair hangs down in a wild mess, a matte of blood at her hairline, her arms flopping limply. “You get out, too, ya hear? And… thank you.”

“Just make sure Sam gets out. Lie if you gotta. Tell him I’m in another pod,” Dean yells after Benny before the man breaks out into a run. Dean turns back to his console. He should be able to manually control the thrusters to steer the ship far enough to avoid another shot from the enemy vessel that’s currently staring him down.   
  
He needs to give everyone enough time to get away or die trying. 


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR** **  
** **  
** This isn’t just free-falling. This is hurtling toward an alien planet at a velocity that defies the known laws of science. He should be burning in the atmosphere, fried extra crispy with nothing left of him but a skeletal husk or ash. Or maybe even vaporized to the point that absolutely nothing of him exists.    
  
But here he is, the stone glowing against his chest and cloaking him from harm, preserving him, leaving a haze of green around his vision. As he marvels over the fact that it actually fucking worked, he has the fleeting, hysterical thought that he can’t wait ‘til he tells Jo.    
  
Until then, there’s not much he can do except try to remain calm even as his body screams that nothing about what’s happening right now is natural. He stares at the world below, only slightly nauseous at this point, and focuses on the blocks of color in their various shades of greens and brown. It's actually… breathtaking. And judging by what he thinks are divisive property lines and tilled farmland, he guesses that there’s intelligent life on the planet.    
  
It isn’t until those blobs of color begin to take on more definitive shapes--dots becoming houses and fluffy broccoli tufts becoming trees--that he can’t hold back instinct anymore and Dean  _ doesn’t wanna _ . Nuh uh, no way, no thank you, ma’am. It doesn’t matter if he’s untouchable. This is all one big, colossal, very bad idea and his monkey brain knows that he’s about to  _ crash _ and must avoid doing that at all costs.   
  
It doesn’t help that the closer he gets, the faster it rushes at him and the more he’s pissing scared. When he reaches the first tree canopy, he braces for impact, holding his breath until his eyes roll closed and he’s out like an extinguished light.   
  
The next thing he knows, he’s flat on his back and gasping for air. He can’t fucking move, pain tearing through him like he’s been pierced clear through with a javelin. He carefully lifts a hand and pats the front of his shirt. The damn stone is gone. When he blacked out it must’ve deactivated and flew off to who-the-hell-knows-where.   
  
‘ _ Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.’ _   
  
Above him, foliage shudders, a few disturbed leaves floating to the ground and settling in around Dean in a gentle whisper. Dean turns his head to stare at a striped leaf that has landed near his face.   
  
And then he panics, his chest so tight with it that he isn’t sure if he’s actually physically hurt or just terrified. But every time he tries to roll to one side or pull himself up to a sitting position, his entire body seizes up with pain and he can’t get up on his own.   
  
“Hell—hello?” he calls out between shallow breaths, hoping his voice carries on the dry, humid breeze. “Need. Help.”   
  
It’s futile but he tries calling out again, louder, his voice hoarse and cracking. After awhile, he’s still alone and working up the courage to try to carefully sit up again when he hears someone approaching, snapping twigs in half with heavy and quick footfalls.   
  
“Uriel?” a deep voice bellows from the direction of the noise and Dean is so relieved to hear another person that he has the sudden, wild thought that he won’t have to live in a loincloth alone in the woods after all.   
  
The voice came from somewhere behind him so he tilts his head back. A man steps out from between the trunks of a couple of trees and their gazes lock and stops dead in his tracks. His eyes go wide, breaking away to slowly trail along the exposed line of Dean’s throat. The man’s mouth parts and he swallows so hard that Dean swears he heard it.   
  
A man. It’s a friggin’ two-legged, two-armed, one headed  _ human _ . A human who is dressed, even if they are weird clothes--a loose fitting shirt with buttons trailing halfway down, worn out suspenders that are helping to hold up a dusty pair of pants--the point is that they’re cut and sewn and Dean isn’t found by a caveman who can’t help him find a radio or a way to call home. Dean doesn’t know who he has to thank for that but he sends a silent prayer skyward.   
  
It doesn’t occur to him, though, that his savior may not be so friendly about finding him, not until he says, “You’re not Uriel,” like some kind of accusation, his jaw snapping shut and eyes narrowing.    
  
“Uh, no.” Dean takes a shaky breath, watching as the man cautiously walks around him until Dean no longer has to strain his neck to maintain eye contact. “Name’s Dean.”   
  
“Castiel. Cas.” The man pauses, brow furrowing above his dirt-dusted face as though he’s just realized something and is very unhappy about it. “You’re hurt.”   
  
“Just a little,” Dean huffs humorlessly.   
  
“Where?” Cas asks, kneeling down and getting straight to business.   
  
“All--all over.” Dean screws his eyes shut and focuses so he can get a better idea of what feels worse and is keeping him pinned down. “Left side more, I think.”

Cas sniffles a few times and stares down at Dean with his face twisted with confusion and perplexed. “Do you mind if I..?” He makes a gesture toward Dean’s chest. 

“No.” Dean shakes his head and grimaces, body going rigid with pain from the motion. “Kn—knock yourself out.”  


Taking a deep breath, Cas leans over him but instead of pulling Dean’s shirt out of the way, he keeps leaning down and down and down until the tip of his nose touches Dean’s sternum. He draws it upward toward Dean’s neck while inhaling gently. 

When Cas pulls back, he is still staring but now he looks incredulous but get in line ‘cause Dean is feeling much the same. “Dude, what… the… fuck?” he pants. “Did you just--just smell me?”  
  
“Yes, of course, but I asked and you said it was alright,” Cas says defensively.  
  
“No.” He swallows and takes a shaky, shallow breath. “I thought you were gonna check my--my--.” Dean grunts in pain, his back arching up as he tries and fails to find a comfortable position. He doesn’t have time to argue or parse out whatever weird cultural greeting that’s supposed to be. “Cracked ribs is my guess.”  
  
“Oh. Then allow me to look at that.” Cas carefully drags Dean’s shirt up and stares a moment, his expression hard and unreadable. “I think may be right. How did you come to hurt yourself?”   
  
“I…” Dean falters. What the hell does he say? That he’s from outer space? Not every planet is aware of life beyond their own world and until he knows for sure, mum’s the word. He looks away uncomfortably trying to rack his muddled brain for a plausible excuse for being supine in the woods, his gaze drifting up toward a swaying branch.”I f-fell.”  
  
Cas follows his gaze, appearing even more bewildered. And Dean gets it, he does. Why the hell would a grown ass man be up in a random tree? But that’s the story that he’s sticking with. He can only hope Cas doesn’t ask.   
  
“Well,” Cas looks back down and at least looks slightly sympathetic, “you shouldn’t stay out here. If I help you up, do you think you can walk?”  
  
“Fuck,” Dean mutters, eyes fluttering closed. When they open, they’re glassy with unshed tears. It feels like a giant wrapped a hand around him and squeezed, crushing him. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, we’re going to try.” Cas gets up to his own feet and brushes off his knees.   
  
  
  
  


“Dr. Lisa Braeden, just the doc I wanna see,” Dean announces loudly when he enters the infirmary aboard Valor.    
  
“Dean,” Lisa replies with a jolt of surprise, looking up from a console that she’s sitting at. She’s wearing the typical powder blue pantsuit uniform of the medical personnel, which brings out her brown eyes and contrasts nicely with her dark hair. Her smiles slips a little. “Are you hurt?”   
  
“Yeah, I think I pulled my shoulder or something. Just you tonight?” Dean asks, looking around the empty room. All of the partitions are pulled back to show that each exam bed is empty and in pristine condition, complete with fresh sheets. All of the other electronic equipment is turned off, their screens black voids.   
  
“Yeah, I gave Alex the night off. All we have to do right now is brush up on our medical records and there’s no time like the present since we’ve had nothing but bug bites and sunburn cases lately. We don’t both need to be sitting here, crying of boredom.”    
  
“Well, then, your night is about to get real exciting. Was hoping you could doctor me up.”   
  
Lisa tries but fails to hold back a smile, blushing lightly. “Of course.” She chuckles and points across the room. “Hop up on bed three and I’ll be right over.”

Dean goes over and sits on the edge of the bed, watching Lisa for a few seconds while she finishes typing something at her computer. Uncrossing her legs, she stands up and picks up a thick rectangular device that looks similar to an antique television remote.    
  
She smiles as she approaches him. “Alright, what did you do to yourself?

Dean frowns and tries to move his shoulder but it’s stiff and every little movement causes nerve pain to shoot through his upper back and down his side, making him seize up. And weirder is that he can  _ feel _ all those things and how bad it is but he can still move around the ship just fine. “I--I can’t remember.”    
  
He should know but he can’t conjure up even a hint of an idea of what he was doing even twenty minutes ago. That fact should bother him but he’s so distracted by the pain that he doesn’t care about anything but making said pain stop.   
  
“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me because you’re embarrassed,” she teases, wrongly assuming that he must have done some stupid stunt. At least it feels wrong, like the injury was caused by something so much more than a drunken fall. And beside that, he doesn’t feel drunk. “So, are you glad to get back home now that you’ve had a taste of space travel?” Lisa asks conversationally as she adjusts knobs and holds the device near Dean’s neck. It whirs gently as it works, a soothing buzzing sound.   
  
“Nothing to really get back to,” he says without thinking. He slams his mouth shut and silently chastises himself for blurting that out. “I mean, forget I said that. Of course I have things, people, to get back to. Sam, Charlie, everyone. The same old, same old,” he adds with a forced chuckle that he hopes sounds like the laugh of someone who is just fucking around and not a complete moron.   
  
Lisa is quiet and contemplative and then she sighs, straightening back up, her work done. “I know that you and I decided we are better off as friends, but I do wish you’d find  _ someone _ and I don’t mean a Saturday night hookup with one of the new transfers from Earth. Atlantis may be large and growing in numbers but it’s lonely, especially when everyone around you is pairing up.”

Like he doesn’t already know that and hasn’t heard variations of the same thing from everyone, especially in the most recent weeks since Sam’s engagement. He doesn’t wanna hear it again. He doesn’t need anyone.   
  
Dean clears his throat loudly. “Welp, thanks for fixing things, Doc.” He hops down and tests his shoulder by trying to roll it. “Would you look at that? It’s good as new.”   
  
“Dean,” Lisa sighs.   
  
“See ya around.”   
  
“Yeah, okay. Have a good night, Dean,” Lisa says with that worried mother voice that she often has in regard to his well-being once they get past the playful ribbing. Before he can make a full escape, she tosses out the old adage, “There’s still time,” that sets Dean’s teeth on edge and pushes him further away.   
  
When he gets far enough down the hall that she can’t see him through the panes of glass that enclose the infirmary, he collapses against a wall and tries to catch his breath. A fine sheen of sweat has broken out on his upper lip in just the short jaunt.    
  
Whatever she had tried to do didn’t work like it was supposed to. He’s still boiling up with pain, maybe even more now that he tried to roll his shoulder and faked being healed. Why didn’t it work? It  _ should  _ have worked to repair any damage down to a cellular level.   
  
The light panels along the hall begin to flicker above his head as he continues to fight for breath, the pain wrapping her fire-hot fingers around his lungs and chest, squeezing and squeezing. A white puff of air escapes his lips in a shallow exhale.   
  
While he marvels at the fact that the temp has dropped enough for that to happen, the lights dim and a shadow appears in his periphery. No, not a shadow. He looks over. There’s a ghostly apparition charging at him. It isn’t until it’s nearly nose-to-nose with him that he recognizes her flowy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes.   
  
“Mom?” he whispers and then she’s gone, vanishing into thin air as a vapor. “Mom?” he calls more loudly. The lights return to their normal brightness and the air warms up again, exceeding the normal temps of the ship, growing hotter and hotter until he can’t decide if his suffocation is due more to the pain that he’s in or heat.    
  
Why is it so  _ hot _ ?   
  
He needs to find his brother or someone. He stumbles down the hall, calling out for anyone to help but the hall never ends. It goes on and on and on.   
  
“ALI?” Dean remembers that Valor has an interactive computer, the Artificial Life Interface, that is activated when passengers and crew say ALI like it is some military cooperative. He gives it a stern instruction. “Find Sam.”   
  
“Your request is invalid. Please rephrase your request.”   
  
“What do you mean invalid?” he wheezes. “Uh, okay, try Sam Winchester. Find  _ Samuel  _ Winchester.”   
  
“Locating Samuel Winchester.”   
  
Finally, he gets a response. All across the ship hallway his own name booms. “Dean?”   
  
“Sammy, help.”   
  
“Dean.”   
  
“Yeah, I’m near the infirmary. Or I was,” he says with mild confusion. He’s been walking in circles for so long… Exhausted, he pulls up short and slumps against a wall, closing his eyes. Maybe he should stop moving and wait for someone to come to him.   
  
“Dean.”   
  
Light pierces his closed eyelids.   
  
“Dean, you need to wake up. Please.”   
  
Something touches his shoulder. Pain ricochets through his body and settles deep down to his bones until he can’t tell where it begins or ends. Dean inhales sharply, eyes flying open. Instead of finding the ship's metal walls or artificial light, he’s in a musky, dark room of some sort with shadows flickering on the walls around him. Hell, he’s not even sitting. He’s lying down and there’s a figure leaning over him, sighing heavily with relief.   
  
“It might be best if I prop you up,” the shadow continues speaking as Dean, completely disoriented, fails to recall this shadow man. “I don’t think you can breathe easily lying down flat on your back like this.”   
  
Without agreeing to it, he’s being resituated with tenderness and precision that he wasn’t expecting from the masculine figure.    
  
Doctor. It must be a doctor. Or a nurse.   
  
Once he’s propped up, he’s still sweating bullets but his lungs feel like they can expand more easily. He takes as deep a breath as he dares so he doesn’t anger his ribs. Oxygen overwhelms him. He’s never been so grateful to have  _ air  _ and he revels in the sensation of not having to struggle for it by taking several massive gulps.    
  
The pain is still there but it is dulled, the new position putting less pressure on his injuries. Too weak to fight sleepiness, he succumbs but not before he hears the soothing, whispered promise, “Rest. I’ll watch over you.”   
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**   
  
After a harrowing couple of nights of living hell from what Dean might classify as altitude sickness, complete with freaky hallucinations and dreams, he wakes up feeling more lucid and more than a little embarrassed for being an inconvenience. He’s lying in a stranger’s bed for Christ’s sake.   
  
“Dean?”   
  
Startled, Dean’s eyes dart to the corner where a man is sitting in a hardwood chair. He hadn’t seen him tucked into the shadows but he does recognize him and he recalls their exchange in the woods a little more clearly.   
  
“Cas, right?”   
  
For the first time that he can recall, Cas smiles and his stiff posture relaxes a little. “You were calling me Sammy for awhile so I suppose this means that you’ve recovered from the worst of your condition.”   
  
“I did?” Dean grimaces. “Sam’s my brother. Guess I was a little out of it. How’d I even get here anyway? And where is here?”   
  
“This,” Cas gets to his feet and stretches his spine out a little, reaching back to rub at a sore spot, “is my home. And I know it may seem unorthodox, but I didn’t really see any other choice but to carry you.”   
  
Dean sputters. “You--you carried me to your house?” Dean looks around the place more closely and notices that it isn’t just one open room in a house of many rooms but  _ just one room _ altogether.    
  
“I did.” Cas’ words draw Dean’s eyes back to him. The guy smirks. “You fainted.”   
  
“The hell I did.” He pushes the covers off with his good arm so he can get up to prove that he’s not frail and weak but he’s immediately distracted by a wash of his own body odor. “Jesus, sorry. I feel like I’ve been marinating in my own stench. I know I’ve put you out enough but do you think I could grab a shower?” He quickly clarifies because Cas is doing that squinty eye thing, an obvious sign that they don’t speak the exact same language. “Get cleaned up?”    
  
“I’m afraid that all I have at this time is the wash bowl.” Cas takes a few paces away from the bed and is in what Dean would call the kitchen area. There are shelves nailed to the walls with various cooking paraphernalia, a potbelly stove, a small rickety-looking dining table, and a long counter. “You can borrow some clothes, too, if you’d like.”   
  
When he realizes that Cas is expecting Dean to give himself a sponge bath in bed, he scoots to the end carefully and gets up with every intention of sitting at the table instead. He’s overcome with vertigo but he waits for it to pass before shuffling across the room and plopping down into a dining chair. It wobbles unsteadily. Cas merely quirks a brow at home and sets the bowl down.   
  
Dean peeks over the rim at the murky water and is immediately filled with dread. No, not dread. Disgust. Repulsion. It’s even got a shiny film of  _ hedoesntwanttoknow  _ lazily swirling around in a circle over the top. He can practically see the germs dancing around in the sludge.    
  
This is it. This is what’s going to end him. Not a pierced lung from a broken bone, not by a weapon, not even an animal attack. It’ll be death by a bowl of muck.    
  
Glancing up, he smiles tightly to avoid outwardly gagging, and shakes his head. “Dude, no way. I’m not washing my hands in that, let alone the rest of me. Do I look like I want dysentery?”   
  
Cas narrows his eyes again, this time more out of confusion than because he’s offended. “It’s  _ water _ ,” he insists.   
  
“No, it’s a disease-riddled cesspool.” He leans back in his chair and sighs. “Water should be clear.”   
  
“Fine.” Cas picks the bowl up. “There’s a very refreshing stream a mile or so from here. If you start walking now, you’ll get there before nightfall.”   
  
Traveling a mile by foot to get a drink in this heat would mean he’d be thirsty again before he got back. Bringing water back in a bucket or something might work... eventually, when he’s healed enough to lug water. But even then, could he do it everyday? And what about in the meantime?   
  
“Okay,” he caves, “but at least dump that because it’s gross and I’ll... go get water somehow.”    
  
“I’m more than capable of getting water,” Cas says. He gives a pointed look at the arm that Dean is cradling against his stomach in order to keep his bad side immobilized as much as possible. It goes without saying that Dean shouldn’t or can’t pump the water himself.   
  
Without another word, Cas takes the bowl outside, the kitchen door squeaking loudly as it tries to swing itself shut. It only makes it partway, remaining more than half open so that Dean can just make out where Cas tosses the water over a bed of wilting flowers.    
  
There must be a pump out of view but he hears the groaning of metal as if a lever is being raised up and lowered down, back up and down, up and down in quick succession. Not much longer after, Cas carefully walks the water in and sets the bowl down in front of Dean with a dull thud.   
  
He doesn’t know what he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t more brownish water.    
  
“Is it satisfactory?” Cas asks. He walks back toward the bed and lifts the lid of a large chest at the foot of the bed that Dean hadn’t noticed until now.    
  
“Uhh, it’s something.” At least this level of brown is still see-through and there’s no slime floating on top, the discoloration probably due to minerals or rust.    
  
Cas lays a small pile of clothes out at the end of the bed and brushes his hands off. “You’ve had no problem drinking it while laid up.”   
  
Something rotten curdles in Dean’s stomach--probably the water he drank without realizing it was a liquid contagion--and he has to swallow several times so he doesn’t puke into the bowl.    
  
“Dean, stop fussing and clean up. There’s a barrel of rainwater outside for drinking.” There’s a hint of amusement in Cas’ small smile when he walks back to the kitchen. “For what it’s worth, you don’t smell  _ bad _ . To me.”   
  
Something about that pings at a memory in the back of his brain but he can’t exactly place why it’s familiar. “Thanks? You’re not so bad yourself,” he quips automatically. He hasn’t actually gotten close enough to the guy to get any idea and he’s not about to in case his own B.O. really does offend his host.   
  
Bemusedly, redness creeps up Cas’ already tan neck and cheeks, making them even more ruddy than they already are. “I didn’t mean--I should give you privacy.” He hastily pivots on his heel, grabs a wide-brimmed hat off of a peg near the door, and is out in the blink of an eye.   
  
A little while later, Dean doesn’t feel any cleaner than when he started but he’s done the best that he can. At least he’s managed to get on the change of clothes. That’ll help mask some of it but with the heat and the never-ending sweating, it won’t be long until he’s the live action Pigpen, complete with plumes of visible stink rolling off of him.    
  
And the hygiene issue isn’t even the worst part. All this movement has exacerbated his bad side. He can practically feel the swollen tissues puffing up more, straining the limits of his skin.    
  
So he sits in the quiet at Cas’ small dining table in the one-room house and hugs his arms to himself, looking around at the bare walls and basic everyday things that Cas uses. Everything that is unfamiliar, foreign in all the ways that scream  _ thisisallwrong _ , different from all that he’s known.    
  
What is he supposed to do now? Never mind finding his way back home if this planet isn’t as advanced as he suspects it’s not. He has to figure out the culture, find food, make shelter, find a vocation. And above all of that, he’s injured and useless. He can’t even sit at a damn table without feeling breathless with pain.   
  
For the first time since abandoning ship, he feels small. Smaller than when he was when aimless and untethered in space.  
  
  
  


If he has to readjust the damn sling that Cas made him even one more time, he’s gonna rip it off and burn it. At least keeping his arm immobilized on his bad side, however poorly, is helping a little to the point he doesn’t need to stay bedridden. Speaking of which…   
  
“Uh, look, man. I appreciate you doctoring me up but I can’t take your bed.” Hell, he can’t take anything more from this man. He’s gotta be driving the loner up the walls. “I’m new to town and don’t know anybody but maybe there’s a whatchamacallit? An inn or whatever?”   
  
“Out of the question.”   
  
“But--”   
  
“Do you think you could even make it to town by foot? You fainted in my arms just a few days ago, couldn’t distinguish me from your own brother, and spent the rest of the time mumbling about something called space cowboys in your fevered sleep.”   
  
Dean’s breath hitches. Suspicions about this place being unadvanced are nearly confirmed but he’s just gotta ask, gotta clarify. “I’m gonna assume this is one of those podunky, middle-of-nowhere farm towns then.” Dean’s voice rises a little unsteadily. “Where’s the nearest big city?”

Cas shakes his head apologetically. “I’m afraid you’re not in any condition to continue on your travels. You’ll need to stay here while you recover. In the meantime, I can get word to your people to let them know you’re delayed. Do you want me to contact your brother? Your... mate?”

“Uh, no, man. There’s nobody, not anymore.” For a moment, Dean stares hard out of the open kitchen door where a hot breeze sweeps in but does nothing to cool off the interior of the house. His next words are flatter. “So does this mean you don’t have some modern city with running water, vehicles, electricity? ”    


“I’m not sure what most of those are,” Cas says. “And the only nearby water that runs is the river.”   
  
“How do you communicate around here then? Long distance, I mean. Phones? Computers? Radio?”   
  
“As you must already know,” Cas speaks slowly, “we deliver written correspondence by horseback carrier. Anything else is best said in person or through word-of-mouth. Though,” he chuckles lightly, “I question the reliability of the latter.”

Despite delivering what sounded like a joke, Dean can’t even muster up a smile. How the hell does he get a message to Atlantis? There’s gotta be a way to make a distress beacon but then something about what Cas just said registers and he nearly falls out of his chair in excitement. “You got horses here?”    


“Of course. Isn’t that the standard form of travel everywhere else?”   
  
“Uh, yeah,” Dean lies. “I wasn’t sure  _ you _ had ‘em.”   
  
“Well, I live alone so I’ve only got the one. I’m afraid I didn’t even check to see if you had a beast with you when I found you. In fact, I thought you being thrown or kicked by a horse was more believable than falling from a tr--”

“No, I didn’t have one. I’ve never even seen one up close. Not a real one anyway,” Dean interrupts. It’s best to steer clear of the subject of how he ended up here without realizing that what he’s admitted is just digging himself a bigger hole.

“What other kinds of horses are there for one not to be real?”  
  
“It’s—don’t worry about it.” Let the man think he’s still delirious. Hell, maybe he is and this is just one big nightmare.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**   
  
It’s not a nightmare. Dean’s new reality involves using an outhouse that’s several yards away from the house, eating gamey meat that Cas apparently goes out and friggin’ traps and dresses himself, whore baths in well water, and then sitting around watching Cas toil and sweat his ass off while doing all the chores that Dean can’t even help with because Cas shoos him away and tells him to rest.   
  
If he had to compare this place to anything it might be the Wild West. He had always had this impression that the West was more glamorous than this from all the old movies he’d watch. Men would spend their time loitering in saloons with cards and drinks, fearlessly throwing themselves into one dangerous situation or another with finesse and grace, and getting the buxom girl with alabaster skin and silk-soft hair.    
  
It didn't occur to him how  _ disgusting _ and dirty it can be, how limiting in what can be accomplished. He can’t just hop in an elevator and travel miles in the blink of an eye. Gone are his daily showers with his favorite shampoo running down his temples as he belts out a song along with his radio, or pressing a button and having a hot coffee appear. Hell, he can’t even get coffee in this place. Apparently Cas hasn’t even heard of it.   
  
At least there’s Mist.    
  
He smiles just thinking about Cas' pewter-gray mare. After he heard about her, he insisted on making the trek outdoors to meet her in the blistering midday suns. Cas had been as incredulous as ever that Dean was excited to meet an animal like an old friend but he’s never once tried to pry information out of Dean about his personal life, thankfully.   
  
Hey, Dean’s gotta count his blessings, as few as there seem to be right now. If he were to be asked questions and admit he’s from another planet, Cas would either take him out back and shoot him or cart him off to whatever kind of looney bin they got in these parts.   
  
Today is a pretty decent day as far as his injuries go. He’s able to take deeper breaths with minimal discomfort and he’s more mobile. He still can’t help to chop wood or anything so he’s been out in the pasture with Mist much of the time. She took to him very quickly and trills under his attention.   
  
“Hey girl,” he murmurs, running his free hand along her snout. She welcomes the attention, nudging him so he’ll keep petting her. She’s softer than he could’ve ever imagined, taller than he thought possible, but every bit as gentle. “Cas said he’d let you and me ride after these dumb ribs heal.”   
  
Mist snorts as if she understands and looks forward to that day just as much as him. It makes him chuckle and he happens to glance over toward the paddock gate.    
  
“Speak of the devil,” he says to her. Cas appears to be taking a little breather, leaning on his folded arms and watching them.    
  
It’s hard to see his expression from this far away but he tips his hat very subtley. Dean stops stroking Mist’s face so he can give a wave back but she makes an unhappy noise and pushes him to get her head back under his hand.   
  
There’s no stopping his fall, not without using muscles and body parts that he shouldn't be exerting and then hurting himself more. He ends up falling on his butt and rolling back until he’s lying flat and staring up at big puffy clouds. It doesn’t even occur to him to be concerned about being trampled until he hears Cas calling for Mist and her shadow moves away.   
  
A moment later, Cas drops down beside him breathlessly, his hat and face obscuring the sky. “Dean, are you okay?”    
  
“Got the wind knocked out of me but I’ll live.” Dean groans as Cas helps him sit up. “Gotta stop saving me from all these tumbles I take on your land.”   
  
“I feel responsible that you got hurt in the first place. Helping you is the least I can do.”   
  
“What? It’s not your fault, man. Shit happens.”   
  
“Nevertheless,” Cas says with a frown, unconvinced.   
  
“Look, I’m fine.” He spies Mist a few yards away pulling at grass with her teeth, completely oblivious to what she’d done. “I’m surprised she’s not trying to get between us.”   
  
Cas squints at her. “Why do you say that?”   
  
“Maybe ‘cause the reason she knocked me over in the first place was because I was giving you attention instead of her.” Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “She got jealous.”   
  
He’s still watching her with amusement, too infatuated with finally meeting a real life horse to harbor any ill feelings over the innocent shove she gave him, that he doesn’t realize how long the silence draws out between them until she lifts her head and her ears perk up as if listening to something far away.    
  
Naturally, he sits up straighter, too, looking around for anything out of the ordinary until his gaze lands on Cas who happens to be watching him with a peculiar expression, tight around the eyes but lips soft and parted. He continues to watch Dean, azure eyes roaming across his face like a gentle, feather-light breeze until they pause at Dean’s mouth.   
  
The want and heat in that gaze is so visceral that Dean swears his lips tingle as if physically touched and he’s not entirely sure what is happening here. The--the  _ connection  _ between them--that’s been there as if they've known each other their entire lives--it’s unlike anything Dean has experienced before. He hasn’t felt these things when hanging out with Benny, Jo, Garth, or any of the others.   
  
Attraction. Cas is attracted to him.   
  
About the moment Dean’s heart begins to race, Cas pulls himself together and a mask of cool indifference slides into place. He reaches down a hand. “Let me help you up.”   
  
The change in demeanor happens so fast that Dean gets mental whiplash. He grasps Cas’ forearm and allows himself to be hauled up to his feet as if he weighs nothing. The heat ratchets up a notch because that’s kinda hot.   
  
He’s willing to linger there, see if Cas warms up to him, too, but the other man immeidately pulls away and shakes out his hand.    
  
“I believe I hear someone approaching.” Cas looks toward the direction of his house. “It would probably be best if people around here didn’t know you were staying with me,” he says unsteadily, despite the hardness in his face.   
  
“Uh, is everything okay?”   
  
“Yes, fine. I’m just needed elsewhere. I may be gone the rest of the night, maybe even into tomorrow. Hard to know with these things. You saw how I stable Mist?"    
  
The dismissal is more angering than hurtful. Dean wants to demand where he’s going, ask why his presence has gotta be some big secret. Maybe Cas has got some hot date he failed to tell Dean about. Not that Dean is owed an explanation but he’s suddenly very keenly aware of just how little he knows about Cas.    
  
Still…   
  
He gingerly walks back over to the mare until he’s close enough to lean on her a little for support. She continues to pull at the grass and shift between her four long legs, unperturbed by his proximity.   
  
“What the hell am I doing? I should be trying to figure out a way home, not flirting or imagining stuff that isn’t there, or whatever the hell that was,” he complains to the horse. “I’m not a teenager. I don’t crush. Especially not on blue-eyed farmers who go around saving hopeless morons.”   
  
Mist bobs her head in agreement.   
  
Dean sighs.  
  
  
  


Cas is gone for  _ hours _ and Dean has to admit that being in a little house in the middle of nowhere, on a foreign planet where all he knows is one dude--and said dude has left him all alone  _ into the night _ \--is more than a little disconcerting. Especially because there aren’t even any guns around here should a creature or intruder show up. All Dean has is some wicked looking machete that he plucks off the wall and keeps on the table… just in case.   
  
At first it was okay. Cas probably had to go run an errand with whoever picked him up and he’d be back ASAP. But then hunger set in and all bets were off. Up to this point, Cas had been cooking and portioning food. Dean doesn’t really want to snoop around and use up whatever portions there are but there’s not much to do to pass the time or distract himself.    
  
He gathers the meager ingredients and begins making something by memory. It’s almost cathartic because it’s a part of him that hasn’t been taken away. He may not have his music and movies, his shower, or his bomb-ass bed, but he remembers many of the recipes that Ellen shared with him when he was a young boy, forced to stay in the kitchen with her after his parents died and out of the way of the ‘ _ important scientific research and the work to the advancement of humanity _ ’ that most of the other adults were doing.   
  
He’s gotta tweak it a little, working slowly with being one-handed, and figure out how to cook in the fire, but he’s observant. He’s seen how Cas does it when he makes stews and meats and roasted vegetables.    
  
The distraction works and by the time Dean is biting his thumbnail while keeping a watchful eye on the fire, the door creaks open and spooks him half to death.   
  
Cas, too, seems disturbed by the scene before him because he pulls up short, gaping at the sight of flour and eggs shells everywhere. “I left you alone for only a little while…”   
  
“I’ll clean it up,” Dean says hurriedly. He gives Cas his best, most charming smile to appease his host. “I was about to do it but didn’t want to burn my pie.”   
  
“I see. I thought you had perhaps left it for me to clean.”   
  
“That would be a dick move. It’d be one thing if we agreed to cook and clean it up together but I kinda did this on my own.”   
  
Cas hangs his hat on its usual peg and shakes out his hair. It’s kept short, probably because of the heat, so there may be a barber in town. He decides to ask because he’s dying for a cut and shave. The less hair on him, the less hiding places for creepy crawlies.   
  
“We do. Ishim is the local barber. He can do a shave, too, but I wouldn’t let him near my neck with a sharp object,” Cas says cynically.    
  
“He that bad?”   
  
“Hmm. He’s that bad with people. Good with hair, though. I’ve got a shave kit you could borrow. I haven’t used it much. I’ve been a little busy with a visitor.”   
  
Dean checks on the pie and hears the gentle splash of water as Cas washes up.    
  
“So aparently you got some job besides beheading chickens and growing enough vegetables for a small army,” Dean says lightly and Cas gives him a tired smile. “What’d your friend want earlier?”   
  
The twinkle in Cas’ eye dims a little and he purses his lips before answering. “Their sister was having a baby. I suppose I never told you about my actual occupation. I help women during childbirth. You might call me a midwife.”   
  
Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Isn’t that a chick job?”   
  
“Dean, how would chicks be in any way related to helping someone give birth?”   
  
“No, I mean--where I come from, sometimes people call girls chicks. It’s like a nickname. And, no offense, I just thought midwifing was something women did. ”   
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand half of the things you say, but no. This isn’t a ‘chick’ job. It’s an--an Omega job. Because that’s what I am.” Cas looks up defiantly but Dean’s got no clue what the hell that even means.   
  
“Okay?”   
  
“Okay?” Cas parrots in surprise. Apparently Dean’s reaction isn’t what he was expecting.   
  
“I guess it’s my turn to not have a clue what you’re saying. Alright, I’ll bite. What’s an Omega?”   
  
Cas inhales sharply and holds his breath, battling between either wanting to rip out his own hair or rip out Dean’s by the looks of it. “That’s not funny.”   
  
“Wasn’t joking. I don’t know what an Omega means.”    
  
“I meant the part about biting isn’t funny. I can’t tell if you’re purposefully teasing or actually ignorant? How could you possibly not know?”   
  
“I’m from out of town? And anyway,” Dean continues quickly before Cas can start questioning him about  _ that _ because he’s still not sure how to sweet talk himself out of that one, “who cares? Omega or not-Omega, chick profession or not, so you like helping do the whole Lamaze baby thing. Good for you.”   
  
“That’s just it. I don’t enjoy it. Or the many other things expected of me. When I was younger, I was dragged from one birth to another and it never stopped. It’s as though they’d collectively decided I would be the one to fetch when the time came. Everyone else is already too busy having babies to be a regular midwife or they’re getting too old to want to drop everything for a birth. I’ve become the reluctant Omega midwife.”    
  
It’s the most that Cas has ever said to him in one breath and now that Dean looks at him more closely, he can see that Cas looks pretty miserable.   
  
“So babies aren’t your thing.”   
  
“I didn’t say that.” Color rushes to Cas’ cheeks and he looks away. “Seeing newborns all of the time…” Cas’ voice drifts off wistfully and he shrugs. “They’re wonderful. But knowing I won’t ever have my own? It’s the worst kind of torture to be thrust into a position that gives me glimpses of what everyone else can have but me.”   
  
Ah, salt in the ol’ wound. Well, now Dean feels like shit. He didn’t mean to make the guy feel bad about something so deeply personal.   
  
“Don’t mistake that as me being unhappy for those families because that isn’t the case. I’m unhappy for  _ me _ . And I know it’s selfish and that it’s my burden to carry for what I am--”   
  
“Why don’t you stop then?” Dean asks and Cas looks up at him sharply. “Seriously, tell everybody no.”   
  
“I--I can’t. I couldn’t.”   
  
“Uh, why not? You said yourself that you didn’t exactly sign up for it.”   
  
“But then who would they call? And what would I do to support myself? My options are limited, Dean, to things I couldn’t possibly be allowed to do.”   
  
“Look, buddy, I don’t know. That’s something you gotta figure out. All I know is that you should find something to do that makes you happy and do that instead of worrying about what everyone else wants you to do.”   
  
Cas bites his lip and doesn’t look convinced. “I do worry. I worry about doing the right thing while never knowing what that right thing is supposed to be.  Dean, I don’t fit in here. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

_‘Buddy, you got no idea,’_ Dean thinks but instead says, “I think I do. And I think that you should forget all the labels. Ditch the job you hate. And just be.. Cas.”  
  
“Is that what you do?”  
  
“No, I’m Dean. If I was Cas, that’d be weird.”  
  
Cas cracks a smile first until it grows into a deep and melodious laugh. “I’m not entirely sure why I’m speaking so openly with you. My problems aren’t your concern.”  
  
“Meh, I have that effect on people. And don’t be so hard on yourself. If you’re holed up here by yourself all of the time, you either start talking to yourself or you hallucinate people to talk to. Better me than an imaginary friend.”  
  
“Sometimes I do wonder if you’re actually here or if I’ve conjured you up somehow.” Cas becomes somber, cocking his head to the side in contemplation. “You’re not like anyone else that I know. You’re more different than even me.”  
  
Damn intuitive bastard. “You know what I think will make you feel better and less, I dunno, emotional or whatever this is? Sleep. But first, you’re gonna have some of my really shitty pie.”  
  
Cas’ nose wrinkles. “Please tell me you didn’t put actual shit in your concoction.”  
  
This time Dean is the one who laughs until his side literally hurts. 


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**   
  
  
_ Pegasus Galaxy   
The Planet Celestia   
The City of Edenia _

_ A Dream _

Rain falls cold and sizzles on the cracked veining of dried earth. The compacted, sable dirt darkens quickly in its greed to soak up the water at contact. Before long, the dead landscape will be a soggy, water-logged mess that will grab and suckle at the boots of the people hastily trying to traverse the wet land.   
  
The drought appears to be over.   
  
Around the small town square, families and shopkeepers peek out of windows. Some step out of open doorways to watch the downpour from the protection of the awnings that were built to keep the weather at bay be it rain, snow, or shine. A few children brave a fast, slippery run through the muddy street, jumping up onto porches on the other side in fits of laughter, soaked head to toe in those mere few seconds of shower.   
  
“Looks as though the clouds made good on passing over the mountain and coming to us after all.”   
  
Castiel tears his eyes away from the children, swallows down the ever-present pang of longing that rises to his throat whenever he pauses long enough to think about the impossibility of having any of his own, and looks toward his companion, Hannah.    
  
“It’ll be hell for the horses and wagons for awhile,” he muses thoughtfully, “but the crops might make it after all. If we don’t have another bad dry spell, anyway.”   
  
“How is your farm doing?” Hannah asks politely, tucking her arm in his and pulling him around so that they can resume their task of visiting the resident shoemaker and cobbler about the pair of boots that Cas had ordered to be made. He’s been hobbling around with the same pair for so long that they have begun to fall apart at the seams.    
  
“ _ Farm _ is a bit of a stretch,” he answers wryly. Cas’ plot of land is a decent size for a lonely bachelor but it is nowhere near as grand as the acres upon acres of his many neighbors. It’s because of its more humble size that he’s been able to tend to his meager crops more easily during the drought than others, though, simply by lugging water up from a stream that runs about a mile behind his house. “It’s the hives I’ve been worried about, with the wildflowers wilting and turning to dust.”   
  
“It would be awful to lose your honey.” Hannah sounds genuinely affronted by the thought. “It is one of the rare treats that the community enjoys. Without it, cakes would not be nearly as soft and sweet.”   
  
Cas chuckles. Hannah’s sweet tooth knows no limits.   
  
They’ve reached the end of the porch, the door to the cobbler’s shop wide open to allow indoors the refreshing air that has accompanied the rain.    
  
“Hello, Inais,” Cas greets, stepping inside. His new brother-in-law pops up from behind a table and Cas has to stifle a laugh. Inais has thick, round pieces of glass strapped over his face that magnify his eyes to proportions that are remniscent of big-eyed bugs.   
  
“Castiel, Hannah,” Inais says cheerfully, removing the spectacles and dropping them to his workbench. “Your boots are ready. Let me go fetch them from the back room.”   
  
While they wait, Cas asks Hannah if she will be attending the next autumnal barn dance. It’s a few months off but he’s not prolific at small talk and he doesn’t know what else to talk about that he doesn’t already know. The dances are put together semi-annually so that unmated young adults can meet others from out-of-town but people of all ages also attend in order to observe and celebrate any unions, to dance, and for the pleasure of socialization.    
  
“My mother insists,” Hannah says quietly, folding her hands together in front of her dress primly. “She said it is time that I stop putting it off but I’d prefer not to make the journey with my folks. Should someone else ask, though, I might ride along with him. If he’d have me.” She eyes him sideways and her eyelashes flutter a few times.   
  
Cas nods with sympathy for her plight. Had he the choice, he’d prefer to attend with an intended—except that’ll never happen for him—over his own parents. They passed away long ago enough that it isn’t an issue for him. 

This year, the event is being sponsored by a neighboring township so he is still undecided about making the long drive at the end of a tiring harvest season. He doesn’t see the point unless he gets an uncharacteristic itch to see what the fuss is about, which is highly unlikely. If anything, it would be something to do to pass an otherwise lonely night.   
  
He looks into her wide, hopeful eyes and tries to offer her a proper encouragement that will ease her anxiety about the prospect of finding her future mate at the dance. “My greatest hope for you is that you find your Alpha and that you’ll both be happy.”    
  
Hannah opens her mouth but no sound comes out. She narrows her eyes, her brow puckering together. She can’t seem to find proper words to express her gratitude to him but a gentle cough into her fist helps clear the way for her to say a choked, “Yes, right. An Alpha.”   
  
There’s nothing more to be said because Inais returns through the batwing doors in a burst of exuberance. “Please, take a seat and try them on.” He gestures toward a squat stool near his workbench for Castiel to sit upon. “Although, I am quite confident that they’ll fit.”   
  
“I’m sure that they will. You are the best shoemaker in the county.”   
  
“I’m the only one in the county,” Inais corrects genially, tsking a little as he gets on bended knee to help Cas try on the stiff shoes. “It won’t be long before Anna and I have sons and daughters to raise in the family business, though, and then we’ll have a whole team of shoemakers and cobblers.”    
  
“Yes, of course,” Cas says weakly. He focuses on lacing up the boots and stomping them on the hard floor. Dust kicks up and stings his burning eyes, helping him to play off their wateryness as being due to the irritant.    
  
“They will take some breaking in but do they fit well?”   
  
“They’re wonderful.”   
  
“Good. Now, you’ll take those today but leave your old pair with me. I’ll repair them so that you can have a pair on hand as a back-up.”    
  
That is a sound idea and Cas is grateful Inais had the forethought so he nods in agreement. “Remind me of how much I owe you…” Cas reaches for the pouch that he had made from leather given to him from their local tanner. His fingers dig through the coins to find the silver ones.   
  
A calloused hand covers his, causing Cas to still and look up.    
  
“We’re family now, Castiel,” Inais chastises. “Put that away.”   
  
“Inais, I—I can’t just take these shoes. It took you hours, days. It cost you—”   
  
“Hush.” Inais pats his hand and moves away toward the bench to resume what they had interrupted. “Anna would rather have my hide tanned to make more shoes than to hear talk that I charged her baby brother. Besides that, you keep us in honey and one day soon your midwifery services. Call it an even trade.”   
  
Cas shakes his head in disbelief, hesitantly closing the pouch and returning it to his pocket. Other than Anna and Hannah, people only seem to seek him when they’re in need of something  _ he  _ can offer  _ them _ . He isn’t invited to any of the things that the Alphas tend to get together for, like sporting games, hunting, and drinking. Of the traditional Omega get-togethers that he’s attended, he stood out like a sore thumb and felt awkward. He both does and doesn’t identify with either the Alphas or the Omegas. He doesn’t quite fit in anywhere.   
  
“First the mating quilt and now the shoes?” he says quietly.   
  
When Inais had claimed Anna as his mate, the entire township had congregated at the new couple’s home a week later for a reception. Cas had brought his sister a special gift; the quilt that their mother had made for him when he was still young and unpresented. Anna is the one who will build a family so it only made sense for it to stay in the family through her.    
  
He’ll never forget how defeated and foolish he felt when they had declined. Regardless of how polite they had been about it, the rejection from his own sister and her mate stung deeply. It remains in the back of his wagon to this day.   
  
“We’ve already told you that that quilt was your mother’s gift for you,” Inais scolds gently. “You get cold in the winters just like anybody else.”   
  
It may be true that a quilt is a wonderful thing to have in the cold when shivering and alone without a warm body beside him, but the gift was created for him with a specific intention that he cannot fulfill. His mother had made it in the hopes that he’d grow up and take an Omega as his mate, an Omega who would then use it to build their nest and they’d live happily ever after with a dozen children.    
  
Mother had not counted on her youngest son being an anomaly, a freak.   
  
She hadn’t counted on him being the only known male Omega alive.    
  
Hannah has remained unusually quiet while the men were discussing the transaction, or lack thereof, but she takes his arm again and squeezes gently to let him know that she’s ready to leave.   
  
They say their goodbyes and go back out into the gloom. The rain is still coming down hard and it seems that no one has moved, all of them locked into their same positions, watching with joy and enjoying the cooling temperature.    


A commotion picks up across the muddy street. Someone has arrived at the town square and is yelling out for help when Cas catches the sound of his name. It must be a medical issue. No one really seeks him out with this much fervor unless it’s for that. 

“Where is Castiel?”

Slipping away from Hannah, he hops down and into the rain, squinting through the deluge to find the person who is frantically asking after him. As he gets nearer, he isn’t surprised to see that it’s Hael considering that her sister, Miriam, has been due to birth any day now. 

“Castiel, there you are,” she says admonishingly, taking a moment to try and catch her breath. She grabs his arm and tugs. “Come quick. I think she’s close. We’d all feel much better if you were there with her.”

  
  
Cas wakes up everyday lately with a crick in his back and a worry on his brow. After he tries to stretch out his aching muscles, he scoots to the edge of the loft and climbs down the ladder, wondering if the previous night was the night that his houseguest might’ve chosen to go on his way.   
  
It has been a few weeks since he found the injured stranger on his land and Dean has shown a lot of improvement since. He doesn’t even bother to use the sling anymore and despite that, Cas refuses to listen to Dean’s arguments about taking the loft so that Cas can have his bed back.  
  
He peers through a gap between the rungs and exhales quietly with relief. Dean is still here.   
  
The sight of dusty brown hair sticking up out of the quilt in the bed brings a small smile to Cas’ face as he recollects their poor barbering attempts. They would’ve had Ishim do it except that Cas has been hesitant to take Dean to town. He can only imagine the whispers when they find out Cas has had someone staying here.  
  
Not that there’s anything going on because just when he was about to give up control in the pasture on the day Mist knocked Dean over, he dissociated from even entertaining the thought. But that won’t stop the gossip. Worse, revealing Dean to everyone else would mean exposing the man’s secret: that he’s scentless.  
  
Well, not scentless because he _does_ have a smell but he’s most definitely not an Alpha nor is he an Omega. Dean is simply Dean and has no gender. It must be a difficult burden to carry, and Cas should know because one’s gender is an integral part of their identity. It determines if you sire children or bear them, if you manage the home or rule it, and if your tasks are limited to only what provides comfort to everyone around you or if you receive those gifts.  
  
Dean is neither and yet both. Like Cas, he looks every bit like an Alpha in appearance but in contradiction he’s not shied away from Omega-dominant roles. He’s doted on Mist like someone who is naturally nurturing, he’s laundered his clothes without expecting Cas to do it for him, he’s _baked_. Cas even caught him mending a sock once with needle and thread. Dean had been a little embarrassed about it, cheeks rosy and eyes downcast in a most Omega way, which was   
  
The bottom line, however, is that Cas cannot keep Dean to himself. He can’t keep Dean, period. He’s not his and it’s time to take the necessary baby steps toward going their separate ways. They’ll start by going to town later for supplies because Dean lost everything but the clothes on his back and a few trinkets during his travels.  
  
He sets about getting ready for the day, running through the never-ending list of chores he needs to get done. He decides to collect eggs and check on the broody hens first thing.  
  
When he returns with eggs, Dean is up and standing near the washbowl in the kitchen, staring unseeing at canisters that line a shelf.  
  
“I’ve got breakfast,” Cas says lightly. Sometimes Dean is barely coherent in the mornings, usually complaining under his breath about the lack of something called coffee.   
  
Cas bites his tongue and doesn’t ask what it is or for Dean to explain many of the unfamiliar things he mentions. Part of him is afraid to know more in case it falls short of his expectations or it breaks his heart. He has to respect that it’s for good reason that Dean is private, that it’s none of his business.   
  
For all of the talking that Dean does, it’s never personal, and Cas will often be so enamored by him that by the time he’s gone up to the loft, he lies there and wonders how he heard so much but learned so little.   
  
“Lemme guess. Eggs.”  
  
“Yes, and biscuits.”  
  
Dean sighs dramatically and pinches the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
“I’m swell, Cas, how ‘bout you?” Dean snaps. He sighs again. “Sorry. Headache. Bad night. Bad week. Hell, bad month. Take your pick.”  
  
Cas flinches. He didn’t realize how unhappy Dean has been.   
  
“It’s just--for a minute, I woke up and thought I was home. Felt good. Felt normal. Was gonna get up, workout, shower, drink a goddamn pitcher of coffee--maybe snark down a bowl of the sugariest sugar I could scare up in the kitchen--get some work done, see my family…”  
  
The ‘but’ hangs in the air but Cas finishes it.   
  
“But you’re here instead.”  
  
“But I’m gross. It’s always hot so I always feel dirty, I’ve always got a couple dozen bug bites, there’s always work to do without any endgame. I don’t understand how you live like this.”   
  
“Well,” Cas holds his head up higher, “nothing is keeping you here. There’s the door.”  
  
“That’s just it. Nothing _is_ keeping me here,” Dean turns around and Cas can see the tension in his body, around his red-rimmed eyes. “I got a whole lot of nothing. No money, no clothes, no job, no house. I have nowhere to go. I always thought that being down here was temporary but it didn’t hit me until now just how really fucked I am.”  
  
“Dean, what are you saying?”  
  
“I’m saying I don’t know what to do. I’ve got no way back and I’m healed up, waiting for the moment you kick me out. So don’t spring it on me, man, please. If you want me gone then I need to know sooner, not later.”  
  
Baby steps.  
  
“What if I told you I thought we should go to town today?”  
  
For a moment, Dean looks so adorably confused that Cas breaks out into a smile, only further confusing the poor man. “Uh, what? You mean we? We’re gonna go somewhere?”   
  
“Of course. As much as I don’t mind sharing outfits between the two of us, I think it’s time for your own set beyond that ridiculous ensemble I found you in.”  
  
“Cas, didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t have a way to buy anything.”  
  
“Then I guess it’s good you’ll be working through the harvest for me and earning your keep.”  
  
Dean’s slack mouth clacks shut. “I can stay?”  
  
“I assume that’s what your tantrum was about?”  
  
“Okay, I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was--I was having a mental breakdown, alright? I panicked. And you would, too, if you were in my shoes.”  
  
Cas glances toward the door where Dean’s very impressive boots are set, the soles caked with mud from the previous day’s rain showers that had left the land soft. He thought Inais was good but Cas has never seen anything like them. The stitching on both Dean’s clothes and boots are impeccable.   
  
“I wouldn’t want to be found dead in your strange boots,” he jokes. It’s an expression he’s overheard Dean saying many times and has found morbidly funny.  
  
Dean laughs but his words are delivered very seriously. “Aint that the truth.”  



	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT   
  
Dean is practically vibrating with excitement when he settles onto the front seat of the buggy. The obsession he has with Mist and horses in general is borderline infantile.   
  
“Calm down. Don’t spook her.”   
  
“Can’t help it. This is even better than I imagined, other than the smell of horseshit. But look at it, Cas. The horizon, I mean, it’s exactly how I’ve seen it. Except that you’ve got mountains and I didn’t.”   
  
Cas spares him a longsuffering glance and then looks out over his land, the house, the stable. There are the same old mountain peaks and the trees that separate his land from Uriel’s property. It is very pretty how the light captures the glisten of drying raindrops on the blades of grass and flower petals, and how the branches play in the summer breeze.   
  
“Okay, less admiring and more driving. Show me some horsepower.” Dean grins and gestures for Cas to spur the horse on.   
  
“This isn’t bareback riding, Dean,” he chides and for some reason that makes Dean burst out laughing. “I swear that you’re a grown child sometimes, for your information.”   
  
“So I’ve been told.”   
  
“As I was saying,” Cas slaps the reins and braces for the buggy to be jerked violently forward as Mist moves and sets a leisurely pace, “she’s pulling some weight and I’ll not have her racing to town because you’re overeager.”   
  
“Man,” Dean chuckles, “I love the way you talk sometimes.”   
  
That gets Cas to keep quiet for a long time, his heart both painfully and beautifully full. Not since his mother has anyone said that they’ve loved him or anything about him. Of course, Dean meant nothing romantic about it but the compliment may very well sit with him forever.   
  
“What is that,” Dean asks after a couple of miles, pointing toward a path that leads down to another cabin.    
  
Cas doesn’t bother to look over. “That would be the home of Zachariah.”   
  
“That is a fucking mouthful.” Dean tests the name out. “It sounds like the name of someone who’s a pretentious dick.”   
  
“You’re very astute, Dean. How do you get that from a name?”   
  
“Probably the same way that I get that your neighbor, Urinal, is probably a big pisspot.”    
  
Cas chuckles and shakes his head. “Right again. Except his name is Uriel.”   
  
“Nah, I said what I said. And it’s not hard, Cas. From the things you said, or not said really, sounds like there are a lot more mean people than nice ones. Other than a few births you’ve gone off to, you’ve been stuck at home with me and no one has even come by to see what you’re up to.”   
  
“Visitors don’t have a reason to come by, not unless they need something.”   
  
“Yeah, but what about hanging out just for fun? I’ve got friends back home and we don’t need to see each other, we  _ want  _ to.”    
  
Cas holds his breath to refrain from speaking in case Dean is going to reveal more but he seems content only to give occasional crumbs of information. Maybe he’s feeling out if he can trust Cas--and he can. He can. He wants Dean to trust him more than anything at this point.   
  
“Other than my siblings, I suppose there’s Hannah.” He chances a glance at Dean to find the other man unsmiling, his brow pinched.   
  
“Oh? Never heard you mention her before. Hannah,” Dean says. “That’s a, uh--sounds like a nice, normal person’s name.”   
  
“I’m sure I’ve mentioned her before,” he muses quietly, trying to recall if he has but the only thing that springs to mind are the lingering vestiges of his last dream. “I actually woke from a dream about her, about the last time we had spoken before you showed up.”   
  
There’s no reaction from Dean except to cross his arms and stare off in the distance so Cas takes the cue to remain quiet and let him enjoy the ride.   
  
The closer they get to town, the more they begin to see other people in passing. Many stop to gape at them and it’s after the fourth instance that Dean finally speaks again.   
  
“Think they’d never seen a stranger around these parts. You guys not get a lot of tourists?”    
  
“It’s not just you. It’s you and the fact that I’m here. I won’t spare any feelings but I’m not exactly well received by a majority of the people and those who aren’t cruel are often silent.”   
  
“What?” Dean pushes himself up from his slouch, his voice rising in disbelief. “Why?”    
  
“I’ve already told you that I don’t fit in here.”   
  
“So move.”   
  
“Move where? It won’t matter where I go. This town, five towns over, to the far ends of Celestia? None of that changes the way people perceive me.”   
  
“Well, screw ‘em,” Dean harrumphs, slouching back down sullenly. “If they say anything, I’m not gonna stay quiet like your other pals, Cas.”   
  
“I don’t need you to protect me.” Cas is supposed to do that for himself. He was  _ supposed _ to be an Alpha who did the protecting. He  _ looks _ like an Alpha.   
  
“Man,” Dean purses his lips, “I’m not saying you're weak or that can’t handle yourself. But two against them all is better than facing them alone.”   
  
Astonished, Cas looks over at Dean and silently curses him. It cannot be fair to be so handsome, so wise, so kind. It is making it very difficult for Cas to remain neutral in his reserve to not have an emotional attachment to the man.    
  
“I appreciate that, Dean,” Cas says quietly.    
  
  
  
“Welcome, neighbors. Let me know if--Castiel?” Gabriel appears from between a couple of shelves. “Where on Celestia have you been? It’s been weeks. You haven’t even attended services.”   
  
Cas ducks his head. Despite being more of an unbeliever, he's attended church as an act of penance rather than because he loves any gods. The townspeople already struggle with the concept of him so it's best to close his mouth and offer the appropriate sacrifices, be seen as a devotee rather than a pagan.   
  
“I had important matters to attend to,” he says, involuntarily looking over at Dean and back to Gabriel. And of course the exchange does not go unnoticed by big brother.    
  
“Uh huh.” Gabriel gestures at Dean. “And would he perchance be Important Matters?”   
  
“Hey, I’m Dean.”   
  
“Weird name,” Gabriel retorts most childishly.   
  
“Gabriel,” Cas says tightly, “I’m here to get the honey jars in addition to my regular groceries. And perhaps you can help Dean find trousers and shirts.”   
  
“Let me scent you first.”   
  
While Dean says an uncomfortable, “Uhh..,” Cas says a very emphatic, “No,” at the same time.   
  
But Gabriel isn’t deterred and gets right up in Cas’ space, grabs his lapels, all while his amber eyes remain trained on Dean for a reaction.    
  
“What the hell is your problem, man?” Dean asks, taking a step forward but not making a motion to remove Gabriel. He’s most likely waiting for something a little more sinister than a brother being a nuisance.   
  
“Okay, he’s not charging at me and ripping my throat out.” Gabriel pulls at the fabric at Cas’ throat and peeks in. “No marks. Two outta three. If I find your scent on my little bro, I’ll be helping you find a coffin, not pants.”   
  
“Alright, fine,” Cas agrees so Gabriel will stop antagonizing them. “Scent me.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yes, because you won’t find anything. He’s a  _ friend _ .”   
  
“You’re telling me that you found some Alpha from another township to befriend and take shopping?”   
  
“No, I’m telling you he was traveling, got injured badly enough that he had no choice but to stay with me to recuperate.”   
  
“Better have stayed out in the barn,” Gabriel says darkly.   
  
“Actually, I stayed in your brother’s bed,” Dean says.   
  
“Dean,” Cas says, his voice so scandalized that Dean at least looks over apologetically but he doesn’t back down. For not being an Alpha he sure is acting like one at the moment. “He’s trying to make you mad, Gabriel. He was too hurt to climb the ladder so I stayed in the loft with the ladder pulled up.” He doesn’t add that he only kept it pulled up during the first few days and then he had stopped bothering with it.   
  
Gabriel leans in and sniffs a few times before finally letting Cas go.    
  
“Alright, the friend can live,” Gabriel announces loudly, turning and walking through the store. “I’ve got your usual order ready actually. Figured the little bambinos popping up like crazy were keeping you busy or you were a rotting, undiscovered corpse somewhere on your property. I was going to bring it by in a couple of days if you hadn't come in.”   
  
“Thank you for dropping by sooner to check,” Cas says dryly. Behind him Dean chuckles.   
  
While Gabriel helps Dean peruse the meager selection of available clothing, Cas begins hauling out his food and farm supplies to the awaiting buggy. Dean is of an average build and anything that doesn’t fit, they can hem. Cas wants to tease Dean about his sewing skills but he isn’t sure it would be appreciated in present company.   
  
“How’re you paying?” Gabriel asks Dean.    
  
“You are,” Cas says gleefully.   
  
“Come again?” Gabriel cups his ear. “I think I heard you say that I’m paying.”   
  
“Kali is due soon and I’m assuming you’ll come get me for the birth. Consider it an even trade. My services for the clothes.”   
  
Gabriel grumbles a minute, looking between the two of them. For his part, Dean rolls back on his heels, hands in his pockets, a picture of serenity.   
  
“Okay, okay, fine. Why don’t you have Deano here lug out the rest to the buggy--”   
  
“I’m perfectly capable of--”   
  
“I said,” Gabriel says firmly, “Why don’t you have him load up so I can catch up with you. In private?”   
  
“It’s cool, Cas. I’ll get this, you get the rest and meet me outside.”   
  
“Cool? What does that even mean?” Gabriel complains but as soon as Dean is out of doors, he turns on Cas like a feral animal. “What in the gods’ names do you think you’re doing, Castiel? An unmated Omega has no business housing some random bachelor Alpha. What if he’d tried something, huh? Has he? It's safe for you to tell me now that he's gone and I’ll--”   
  
“Gabriel, calm down. He’s not even hinted at wanting to try anything. He’s different.”   
  
“Uh-huh.” Gabriel crosses his arms. “That’s what everyone says. Everyone’s Alpha is  _ so _ different and understanding. Believe me, kid, we’re all disgusting pervs with knots-for-brains. He’s looked at that ass and wanted it.”   
  
Heat floods Cas chest and billows up his neck into his face. “That is not appropriate. And really is different. He’s," Cas leans in, speaking in a hush, "he’s not an Alpha.”   
  
“Wait, what?” Gabriel throws his hands up. “Why didn’t you lead with that then? I got all Alpha-protecto for nothing.”   
  
“Please listen to me and respect what I’m about to ask you. Don’t tell anyone? So long as no one gets near enough to really scent him, he can pass as an Alpha and not become some pariah like me.”   
  
“Is he staying long enough for that to matter?” Gabriel asks.   
  
Cas smiles and gathers up the rest of his purchase. He can’t really give an answer but somewhere deep down, he knows Dean isn’t meant to be rooted here. The only question now is how much longer they have.   
  
“Your brother is a piece of work,” Dean says the moment Cas is in earshot. “I mean, I’ve heard of people being phobic but why’s he even assuming that we--that we did anything in the first place?”   
  
“I’m sure your older brother would react much the same if he learned that his spinster brother had a person move into his home without any warning.”   
  
“Younger brother. Sam is younger, I’m older. And yeah, I guess you’re right. I’d be a little suspicious but maybe not intense enough to take a whiff of them. I mean, c’mon. That was a little much.”   
  
“Hmm, I agree. Gabriel doesn’t comprehend the concept of personal space. On a different subject, could you refrain from telling anyone else where you’ve slept?”    
  
“He won’t say anything.”   
  
“You don’t know that.”   
  
“He cared too much. He won’t.” Dean is quiet for a moment and then, “I thought you said everyone was jerks. At least he’s got your back.”   
  
“He hasn’t always been this tolerable.”   
  
“Well that’s brothers for you. Well all mellow out in our older age.”   
  
“While we’re here, do you need to send a letter? See anything else?” Cas secretly hopes that Dean wants to go. He can see Ishim glaring from across the street along with many others who are curious but too distant with Cas to feel free to approach and ask to meet Dean.   
  
“Actually, yeah, I was thinking if I’m staying for awhile that maybe I could put my own skills to some good use. I’d need some metal. Who’d I see about working for it?”   
  
“You’d want the smithy.” Cas pushes away from the buggy and begins walking toward the other end of the town square where Gadreel has his shop. “We can go see him but be warned; there’s the harvest and then the annual barn dance coming up soon after. Several homes are built at this time and they--"  
  
"Make the hardware," Dean cuts in.   
  
"Yes. He and Abner may be too busy making supplies to accommodate you, up until the weather turns cold.”   
  
“Ah, crap. How long is that gonna be?”   
  
“Several more weeks--”   
  
“Alright. It can wait. You’ve probably got flowers to frolic in and bees to chase.”   
  
“I do not frolic,” Cas says firmly, sending Dean a withering stare that lacks heat.   
  



	9. Chapter 9

Cas is leaning over a thriving patch of vegetables, sweat trickling down his temples as he plucks off one grub after another from among the underside of leaves. He has been depositing the plump larvae into a bowl for transport to the coop as a hearty snack for the chickens.    
  
The rains that they’ve been having more consistently have caused all of their gardens and farms to flourish, and that includes unwanted weeds whose roots choke the good crops. When he’s certain he’s gotten all of the grubs that he can find, he turns his attention to pulling out the stubborn weeds from between his plants.    
  
Meanwhile, Dean has been pulling onions from the soil. They look like onions, they’re called onions. Growing up on Atlantis, Dean has spent his fair share of time in a kitchen so he’s pretty sure he knows an onion when he sees one. But why would they each have identical produce in separate galaxies? 

It’s niggling at his mind but he doesn’t know exactly why it bothers him. 

On the one hand, it makes sense that worlds that are habitable for humanoids share a lot of characteristics. But on the other hand, he’s finding far more similarities than differences. 

The biggest difference between them is still the ol’ sniffer. He doesn’t understand the whole smelling thing that everyone does but it seems to be right up there with masturbation as far as taboo subjects go, so he’s given up on asking about it. For now. 

And another thing is the populace itself. For where these people are at technologically speaking, Dean would think that there’d be far less people around. 

He decides to ask Cas about some things at dinner when they aren’t distracted by livestock and chores.    
  
“Hey, Cas, what would you say is the population of, well, the whole planet?”   
  
Just as he suspected Cas would do, the man squints and assesses Dean quietly for a moment before answering. “I‘m not sure. I can give you an estimate but there are several townships. I’m not aware of their exact numbers.”

“Eh, don’t sweat it. It’s not that big a deal.” Dean takes a bite and frowns at the large wooden disc that serves as his plate. It doesn’t sound like Cas is aware of much beyond a small bubble containing the local communities. “How far to the ends of the land?”

“Hmm,” Cas says thoughtfully, poking at his meal, “There’s the mountain range but no one goes over it. Or around it. Traveling too far in any of the either of the other directions is met with uninhabitable living conditions.”   
  
“What kind of conditions?”   


“I haven’t traveled myself but I’ve heard that there is a lot of undrinkable water and what land is there happens to be poor for farming. Last I checked, we aren’t fish so it hasn’t been necessary to migrate there.”   


“Smartass,” Dean says in an amused huff. They must be on an island or peninsula of an indeterminable size. He’s mulling it all over when Cas taps the table and clears his throat.   
  
“I’m glad you brought this up actually. I had been thinking for some time now to ask but it never seemed like the right moment.”   
  
“Oh yeah?” Dean knows exactly what he wants to ask. “What’s that?”   
  
“Where are  _ you _ from, Dean?”   
  
“It’s not important where I’ve come from,” he says dramatically, “but where I’m going.” Dean returns to his food. It’s actually really delicious, way better than any M.R.E. or cafeteria food he’s had to endure throughout his life, but the subject matter has turned his stomach sour so he picks at it.   
  
It’s not like he wants to lie to Cas but can he trust him yet?    
  
“I don’t want to upset you,” Cas says quietly, so of course Dean is instantly on guard and his stomach gives a funny lurch, “but word was sent out regarding you, out to the furthest most towns.”   
  
“You… you’re spying on me?”   
  
“No,” Cas exclaims. “I’ve been nothing but respectful of your privacy, Dean, you know that. I haven’t demanded answers when I have had every right to, considering that you are in my home.”   
  
“Fine. I’ll admit that that doesn’t exactly sound like something you’d do. So who was it?” Dean meets Cas’ reluctant gaze. “C’mon, Cas. You said you gotta right to know stuff and I gotta right to know who’s sniffing around behind my back.”   
  
“Michael and the others.” Cas sighs and sets down his utensil but all Dean sees is red. Those jack-offs have had it out for him ever since news of his presence spread around like wildfire. “They don’t trust you and they wanted answers. They want to know who has come to live among their mates and children. And the responses that they’ve received have left me feeling bereft, especially as I have been defending you—”   
  
“Look, buddy, I appreciate the hospitality and all but I don’t need your protection. And if they’re giving you hell ‘cause of me, then I’ll just find a place to rent out and give you back your space.”   
  
“That’s not what I’m asking you to do. Besides that, there is nowhere to go.” 

“Seriously? There’s no real estate?”

Cas gives him a strange look like he’s not quite sure what kind of a moron he’s dealing with. Slowly, he explains, “We can’t always keep up with the demands for more homes. When a new couple needs one, they inherit from within their families or the community comes together to help build a new structure. And I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think anyone is going to offer lodging or encourage your long-term presence at this time.”

“And that’s just it. I’ve already told you, I can’t get back home. I can’t live here forever.” Dean ignores the flicker of hurt that flashes across Cas’ face. It’s something they had talked about before. 

“You more than earn your keep and I—well, I enjoy your presence.”  
  
“So,” Dean says after a beat, “what are these answers you got about me, huh?”   
  
“Every correspondence that has been received claims that you don’t exist. I don’t know what to think. You have no breed and no family here, you say you can’t go back to wherever home may be, and no one knows who you are. So where did you come from?”   
  
“Cas, I tell you and it won’t matter if there’s not a hut or a house for miles for me to live in. You’ll kick me out anyway.” Dean takes a deep, steadying breath. “And I won’t blame you.”   
  
“I think you’re being a bit melodramatic. I won’t kick you out.” There’s a short pause. “You’re from beyond the mountain, aren’t you?”   
  
“What the hell is up with the mountain, dude?”   
  
“You tell me. There’s nowhere else you could’ve come from. Unless,” Cas smiles wryly, “you’re a fish? A sea monster? Some phantom?”   
  
“Guess my secret’s out.” Dean shares a smile with Cas but the other man becomes serious again and is clearly not happy with Dean evading the question. “You won’t believe me. No, really,” he holds up a hand to silence any disagreement, “you won’t.”

“Just be honest and I’ll have no choice but to believe what you say.”

“Okay, fine. I guess I can tell you this much but you gotta promise me you won’t harass me for more details.”   
  
“Of course.”    
  
“I  _ am _ from beyond the mountains. Far, far, far beyond them in fact.”   


If only Dean had a camera to capture the incredulous bug-eyed expression Cas makes. “But—how?”

“Cas,” Dean says warningly. “You said you wouldn’t ask me about it.”

“I know, but this is an extremely ‘big deal’, as you say. No one comes from the mountains.”

“What do you mean?” Dean smirks. “You’re telling me not a single person goes hiking or explores these lands?”

“Oh no, you mistake me. They used to. There have been many explorers. So many, in fact, that that is why your presence is astounding and something to be celebrated.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Everyone who has ventured into the mountains has never returned. There were people who would train for years to be able to withstand whatever is out there only to try and not come back. And if anyone would to send a message by horse, they didn’t expect the animal to make it back home. Dean,” Cas says excitedly, “you’re the first person to make it out.”

Well. Shit. 

Instead of making himself seem less conspicuous, he picked the one thing that makes him even more mysterious and intriguing. There would be a demand for information, things he couldn’t answer. 

“Look, I know you’re probably about to lose your mind with joy here,” Dean says dryly, “but can we keep this between us?”

Cas studies Dean’s face for a moment and so Dean does his best to implore Cas with every fiber of his being to not be the jerk who ruins his chances of integrating with the people here. Moving wouldn’t be the worst thing but he’s got a good thing going here and it could be a major risk to have to leave and end up somewhere where he could be worse off.   


Finally Cas gives a curt nod. “Perhaps in time you’ll be able to tell me. I endeavor to gain your full trust, Dean.”  
  
  
  
The following weeks become busier for Dean. His ribs are fine, even if his back kills from sleeping up in the loft, so he is doing much more to help out, especially when Cas goes out to help with births. Dean hates it because he knows Cas’ heart isn’t in it and he always comes back in a melancholy mood.  
  
The only good part about Cas disappearing for a bit of time is that it gives Dean time to work on his secret project. On one of their trips to town, he had decided to talk to Gadreel after all instead of waiting and he had managed to haggle for some scrap metal.   
  
Along with working on his little side project, he’s been canning the produce and the honey that they collect. This part of this whole homesteading experience he gets, storing up reserves for when it’s difficult to find food otherwise. Atlantis is a ship that rests on one large body of water and doesn't have farmland. Instead, they have botanists and gardeners who work in enormous greenhouses, cultivating fresh produce for Ellen and the rest of the kitchen staff.  
  
There are even spaces devoted to creating farm-like conditions for raising meat rabbits and chickens. Anything larger, like goats and cows, weren’t kept.   
  
Of course, Dean never ventured to those parts of the city except for the one time he was trying to flirt with a bombshell brunette named Sarah, but he was aware that they existed. And everything else they couldn’t somehow develop themselves, was sent for from Earth. They’d store enough for everyone for months at a time.  
  
What he didn’t do was the actual plucking, cleaning, cooking, canning, and boiling that goes into getting the end result. Sometimes he doesn’t mind it and sometimes he wishes he could turn on an oven, throw in a frozen pizza, and not do all the hard work to get a slice of cheesy divinity into his mouth.  
  
“What do we have after this?” Dean asks, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead. It leaves behind a sticky streak of honey.   
  
“This finished honey will go to Gabriel’s store but these jars are for the sacrifice.”  
  
“I’m sorry--the what? What sacrifice?”   
  
“The sacrifice to the gatekeeper. Metatron.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dean lifts a crate filled with honey jars and begins walking outside to the awaiting buggy. “Okay, I’ve been here for awhile now and I’ve never heard of any sacrifices and… _Metatron_?”  
  
It’s Cas’ turn to be flabbergasted, huffing behind Dean as he carries another crate. “If you’re from the mountain then you should already know. He’s the one who has been chosen by the gods to keep guard and not allow anymore travelers to try and pass.”  
  
Well, if that doesn’t sound like some religious mumbo jumbo from some cultish free-loader. “So what exactly does everyone bring to this _Metatron_?”  
  
“We all bring what we can. My honey, Akobel’s written words, trinkets from Gabriel’s shop, jam from Miriam, medicinal herbs from Ephraim, a quilt from the Omega’s Club...”  
  
It’s too precious sounding and cliche not to interrupt and ask, “Omega’s Club, huh?”  
  
“Yes.” Cas rolls his eyes and meets Dean’s gait so they’re walking side-by-side. “Omegas gather to sew and socialize. It’s an opportunity to teach the younger about expectations in keeping house, cooking, and having children.”  
  
“So Home Ec and Sex Ed all rolled into one.” Or like some kind of wine-guzzling women’s book club, not exactly something Cas would be into. Dean decides that Cas looks too annoyed to be teased about it. Whatever the group is, it bothers him.  
  
Sure enough, Cas admits, “I stopped going. I made them uncomfortable and I already have the skills that I need so it was pointless.”  
  
“I get that.” He sets his case down into the bag of the buggy and moves over to let Cas do the same. He’s gotta steer the conversation back on track because he wants to know more about this religious stuff and if he’s expected to participate in the charade. “So let me get this straight. Some guy is sitting up there, blocking people from going anywhere, and he’s getting a huge ass fruit basket for his troubles?”  
  
“Yes.” Cas props a fist on his hip. “Don’t laugh. It’s necessary in order to keep people safe. Hot-headed Alphas or innocent children could be lost to us forever.”  
  
They turn back to the house. “Alpha. That’s what good ol’ brother Gabe called me when we met. I forgot about that.”  
  
“It’s probably best that you let everyone assume that of you.”  
  
“I’d like to think I’m an Alpha male. Powerful. Manly.”   
  
Cas rolls his eyes heavenward. “Don’t we all.”  
  
Dean holds up his arms and flexes his muscles. “I mean, I am pretty damn strong.”  
  
Cas shoves him playfully and laughs.  
  



	10. Chapter 10

The reaping of the harvest is coming to a close all around Edenia and is replaced by the overwhelming fervor and excited chatter about the upcoming barn dance or festival or whatever it’s supposed to be. It’s even got Dean curious and excited.  
  
“We’re gonna go, right?” he asks one day while they’re burning some underbrush. It’s seasonably hot, no incoming cooler autumn air in sight yet. With the addition of the fire, Dean is drenched with sweat. He also happens to be streaked with dirt, blistered and bruised, his fingernails frayed. He’s a fucking mess.   
  
“Why would we?”   
  
“Maybe because I like hanging out and having fun. And dancing.”   
  
Cas is a squiggly mirage through the smoke but Dean can still make out his scowl. “If that’s something you’d like to do then you should go. I have been selfishly coveting your time. You would be able to take Mist, of course.”   
  
“I meant we should both go.” The fire is smaller now so Dean drags more brush over and tosses it on. “I’ve met maybe three people around here that are okay enough but they’re not you. Won’t be any fun if I go by myself.”   
  
There’s only the sound of popping and crackling debris to fill the silence in which Cas doesn’t give him an answer. He’ll give Cas time to mull it over but he’s not gonna force it. If he’s got to go by himself then he will. He’s a sociable person and is dying for some normal human interaction. He is hoping that if he can get Cas to come out, get out of his shell, that others in the community will stop seeing him as the hermit in the valley.   
  
Maybe he can get them to see what he sees.   
  
He looks up from the flames and watches Cas shamelessly. Cas’ shirt is filthy with dirt and grass stains from lugging the brush into a massive pile but Dean is more focused on what’s beneath that. The flex of muscle that possesses a strength built up form a lifetime of working hard from sun-up to sun-down.   
  
But more than just physical strength is his selflessness and generosity. That despite whatever hardships have caused Cas to lose faith in being able to trust his world’s humanity, he still keeps on giving back in the ways that he can.   
  
He provides them with one of the only sweeteners in the county, often in exchange for other goods. He allows himself to lose sleep and lose time that could be spent elsewhere by attending the births of people who accept his services even if they don’t accept him as an individual. He gives up his bed to a stranger without hesitation and unconditionally, without the expectation of getting anything in return.   
  
Not that he’s some perfect god-like being who can never do any wrong. He always lets his hair go too long between cuts, doesn’t smile nearly enough, and has a cynical worldview much of the time. But he makes Dean laugh and he listens with all of his attention. He’s level-headed and knows exactly what to say to cool Dean’s temper.   
  
He doesn’t take any of Dean’s shit, either, unafraid to be blunt and deliver a sharp comeback. He’s probably the only person that Dean doesn’t have to prove himself to or coddle in some way or another.   
  
Dean thinks he kinda loves him.   
  
“Holy shit,” he blurts out.   
  
Cas’ head snaps up from where he’s been staring intently into the center of the fire. “What’s wrong? Did you burn yourself again?”   
  
“Uh, no. I--I,” he pulls his shirt out and shakes it a little to try and cool off some, “--it’s hot, isn’t it?”   
  
“If you’re feeling light-headed you should go inside. There isn’t much left and I’m used to doing it on my own anyway.”   
  
Dean hates to do it but he needs to process whatever the hell he thinks he’s feeling and he won’t be able to do it with Cas staring at him with those bright blues. “I’ll take the laundry down to the stream. Maybe the water will help.”   
  
Cas nods and Dean rushes off to grab the soap and the large basket that straps to his back. It’s filled with their few clothes and any dirty linens. The walk is long but Dean is used to it now because this is one of the first jobs he took over as soon as he was able to lift things again.   
  
It’s been Dean’s personal respite, a time to wash up more fully, but he doesn’t get to do it more often than a couple of times a week and that’s if the weather allows. He brings Cas’ shave kit along as well since it’s much easier to wash out the blade in the cold, clear water than in the well water that he still hates with a passion. It’s taken practice but if he goes slow enough, he does a pretty damn good job.   
  
The first thing Dean does when he gets there is ditch the basket near a tree and pull off his boots. Normally he likes to wash the laundry first so it’s done and so he doesn’t work up a sweat after the bath but today he’s going to wash first. Everything comes off except the ridiculous white thing that these people have the nerve to call men’s underwear.   
  
The stream branches out from the river that comes through the mountain range so it’s frigid to the point that it burns. He wades out and waits until his body adjusts before lathering up the soap and scrubbing his skin.   
  
He can’t possibly have feelings for Cas. This is simply the classic trope of feeling so far indebted to a savior that he only thinks he loves him. And love? _Love_ ? That’s much too strong a word. Fond maybe. They do live in close proximity afterall.   
  
There was a time early on that he thought Cas had been attracted to him but Cas was probably only staring because he had a bad case of indigestion and needed a focal point to breathe through it. Who the hell knows.   
  
All he knows is that this is one-sided and ridiculous and he needs to get himself under control before he says or does something stupid. And didn’t Cas mention having the hots for some woman named Hannah? Never mind that Dean’s never met her. For all he knows, she lives in another town or Cas visits her after he attends a birth.   
  
“Dean?”   
  
Dean yelps and whips around, water splashing everywhere and getting in his eyes. He blinks rapidly until he can make out Cas’ figure over by the tree where he left the laundry basket.   
  
“I didn’t mean to interrupt--” Cas says, grimacing and turning to go.   
  
“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. He’s mostly naked here and for living in close quarters, they’ve both exercised an extreme amount of modesty in each other’s presence. He doesn’t think Cas has ever seen him without a shirt, much less pants. “I was almost done anyway. So, uh, what’re you doing out here?”   
  
“You looked unwell when you left and I decided to follow to see if you wanted help.” Cas picks up the basket and dumps its contents near the water’s edge. “Where is the soap?”   
  
Dean holds it up and wiggles it a little but he’s going to either need Cas to come get it, walk it over himself, or chuck it. His feet begin moving before he’s made a conscious choice, his eyes fixated on Cas’ as the water depth becomes more and more shallow.   
  
When the tips of his long johns graze the water’s surface, he’s close enough to reach out and drop it in Cas’ upturned hand.   
  
“You’re looking a little red there, Cas. Maybe you need to come in here and cool off, too.”   
  
“I’m not sure I should.” The response is somewhat of a surprise. It’s not that Cas can’t or that he doesn’t want to but that he thinks he shouldn’t.   
  
“Why? We’re just a couple of guy friends hanging out. There’s nothing weird going on.” Dean grabs his waistband and pulls up. “Look, you don’t have to take everything off. I’ve left these on.”   
  
“You make it very hard to be your friend sometimes,” Cas complains under his breath. He begins unbuttoning his shirt and Dean has to look away, choosing to wade further in until he can reach the tin with the straight blade.   
  
“Hope you put the fire out,” he says casually. He slips back until he’s sitting on a decent sized rock that’s low enough in the water that his crotch isn’t hanging out in plain sight. Wet and white don’t leave much to the imagination.   
  
“Of course.” Cas splashes a little as he walks carefully over the rocks and into the water, inhaling sharply as the coldness seeps in.   
  
Dean keeps his focus on the canopies above, his chin lifted, the blade scraping up his neck and jaw. He works slowly, using the sense of touch to determine where to shave next.   
  
The sounds of Cas washing up somewhere further out become quieter until they’re gone altogether.   
  
“Can you see if I missed a spot?” he asks, lowering his head to find that Cas is staring at him with distress. “You okay?”   
  
Cas shudders and looks away, moving toward the shore. “I wanted to tell you that I think that it would be good for you to go to the dance and if it would help for me to come then I will.”   
  
“Alright, awesome.” Dean can’t help but feel that this is more like Cas is pawning him off instead of it being about them going together but, like he thought, this is one-sided and if he’s not careful, he’s going to make Cas uncomfortable.   
  
  
  
“I haven’t gone to one of these in a long time,” Cas admits, sparing a small smile.   
  
They traveled by buggy for hours to get here in time for the festivities to begin. Dean is a jumble of nerves when they walk into the barn of this year’s host. Lanterns hang from the rafters, casting everything in a soft yellow glow. Along one of the side walls are tables laden with food and in an opposite corner is a humble little band fiddling with string instruments.   
  
There are also people everywhere. No, not just people but women. Many of the ones nearest them stop talking and openly stare with expressions of either shock or disdain.   
  
“Uh, maybe this is a chick only event,” Dean says.   
  
Cas shoots him a dirty look. “Why do you insist on calling women that? Even roosters are born _chicks_ .”   
  
“Okay, tetchy,” Dean mutters under his breath. A little more directly, he adds, “I’m just saying that maybe we missed a memo here. Other than the musicians, all I see are girls. No dudes. Not that I’m complaining. More to go around for us, huh?”   
  
Out of his comfort zone and agitated about it, Cas exhales loudly through his nose in irritation. “No, the Omegas always gather first while Alphas… prepare further out in the field. The musicians currently present are mated so they’re here only to work, not to,” Cas lifts his fingers into quotation marks, “‘socialize’.”   
  
Dean feels like he’s on the cusp of figuring something out when a woman comes out from a cluster of young women and approaches them.   
  
“Castiel, you came,” she says delightedly and Dean knows beyond a shadow of doubt that this must be Hannah. She’s wearing an emerald green dress that is hemmed just above her ankles and a neckline that is plunging so deep that it’s making even Dean blush.   
  
“I did.” Cas greets her, seems to notice her outfit as well and looks away uncomfortably, his gaze wandering as the band begins playing a peppy little number.   
  
“Will you finally be participating, then?” she asks, her hopefulness plain as day. She wants Cas… bad.   
  
“You know I can’t.” Cas sweeps an arm toward Dean. “But I brought a friend. Dean, this is Hannah. Hannah, this is Dean.”   
  
“I’ve heard a bit about you,” Hannah says tightly. “May the gods favor you in finding your mate.”   
  
“Uh,” Dean looks at Cas and back to Hannah, “you, too?”   
  
She gives Cas a sad smile and then she’s gone, sweeping her way through the mass of young ladies so she can rejoin her group just as a ripple of anticipation traverses the room as men begin to join everyone inside.   
  
There aren’t just teens and young adults attending. Dean can see some older folks sauntering in and even a few kids chase after one another through people’s legs.   
  
The music picks up tempo and voices swell. Dean decides to take his chances over at the food table. Food is always a great ice breaker and he sees others hovering near it that he could try to strike up a conversation with.   
  
After he makes sure Cas doesn’t want a plate, he cuts across the barn rather than going around. People sway out of his way and more than a few gazes follow him.   
  
The band switches to a new song and everyone seems to understand it to be a signal to move off to the sides, leaving the center of the floor open. The music slows and several women, including Hannah, step out. She appears apprehensive but many of the others are trying to hold back giggles and ducking their heads demurely.   
  
But Dean doesn’t stop to watch whatever performance they’re about to put on because he catches sight of a platter of sandwiches. And there’s _cheese_ . Pastries. Fruits.   
  
He pops a piece of cheese in his mouth and grabs a sandwich since he doesn’t see any plates, turning around just in time to see a wave of men advance on the two dozen or so women who’ve singled themselves out, circling them before a man decides to breach a girl’s personal space and bury his face in her neck.   
  
“Are you not joining them?” a man asks, their elbow colliding with Dean’s arm to get his attention.   
  
The whole situation is so bizarre and startling that Dean shakes his head violently, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him as he answers. “No. I, uh, I’m not.”   
  
“Are you already mated then?”   
  
“No, Bartholomew,” another man, this one with an accent, says, “he’s the one who came with the freak.”   
  
That gets Dean’s attention. He whirls around and two men rear back a little in surprise. “What did you call him?”   
  
The taller one, the Bartholomew guy, snickers. “No need to get ragey. I’m surprised is all. I didn’t realize that sweet little Castiel had finally decided to stop being a martyr and decided to let an Alpha claim him.”   
  
“He’s not joining the others, though,” the second man says. 

  
“No, he’s not Balthazar. Peculiar. But you did say this fellow arrived with him.”  
  
Dean’s mind whirls and he looks across the barn, trying to find Cas in the dim lantern light and through the throngs of people. He’s in the same spot, arms crossed, appearly for all of the world to be unimpressed by the event unfolding before their eyes.  
  
Alphas. Cas said the Alphas were outside but then all the men came in. But Cas joined all of the Omegas, the women, inside. Cas has mentioned on a few occasions that he’s an Omega.  
  
Blindly, Dean shoves his sandwich into Bartholomew’s chest and pushes his way through people, taking a path around the barn so he doesn’t get mistaken for being a part of whatever freaky business is happening centerstage, and rejoins Cas.   
  
Now that he’s taking his place next to Cas, he doesn’t know if it’s even appropriate to say anything about what he’s figured out. And what would he say about it? This is Cas’ sexuality and it’s private and they’re in a barn surrounded by other people who are acting really fucking weird if Dean has to say so himself.  
  
“What kind of party did you say this was?”   
  
“It’s a dance, Dean. For the unmated to find their mate.”  
  
“This is what you call dancing?” he asks loudly.  
  
Cas gives him a weird look and leans in very, very closely, his voice low enough to keep anyone from overhearing but it is a moot point since everyone is more than a little preoccupied with cheering for catcalling around the room.   
  
“I understand you may have hit your head when you fell from that tree on my property and have forgotten a few things, but let’s not draw attention to it with your odd behavior by asking so many questions so loudly.”  
  
“Oh, my behavior is odd? I see guys getting awfully friendly with some of these women without so much as a hello.”  
  
Cas sighs deeply. “Look at them. Do they look unhappy about it?”  
  
Dean looks over and aside from one who doesn’t look pleased and waves the guy away, the others seem to be willing enough. They’re gripping hair and pulling men to their bosoms, tipping their heads back to elongate their necks…  
  
“Is this a sex party, Cas?” he hisses. “Don’t glare at me. Pretend for one minute that I’m five and humor me. Explain it in a way I can understand.”  
  
Cas throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fine. People come here to find a mate, Dean.”  
  
“And they do that by making out?”  
  
“They’re scenting each other. Compatible mates will attract, incompatible won’t. And as far as the Omegas are concerned, the Alphas may be pushy but the choice ultimately belongs with her. She will choose her mate. They’ll eventually wander outside to a tent or wagon that the Alpha has prepared and in nine months I’ll be called to many of their new homes to help them deliver a baby. It is our greatest, most divine purpose.”  
  
They watch everyone for awhile. For every one couple that matches up, there are half a dozen who laughingly push away a potential suitor and move on to sniffing someone else.  
  
“Hey, you smelled me,” Dean accuses in a harsh whisper, finally remembering why the action looks so familiar. One of the first things Cas did to him was the scenting thing.  
  
“I was--that was different,” Cas stutters. “You were hurt and I was trying to get an idea of what I was dealing with.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Dean bites his lip and watches Hannah for a moment. Her cheeks are rosy and she’s batting her lashes at a dark-haired man approaching her. The custom is strange to him but he _is_ a foreigner on another planet after all.   
  
“I thought you wanted to come so you could participate,” Cas says flatly.  
  
“What? Me?” Dean gapes at Cas but their conversation the other day comes rushing back. He had practically bragged about dancing. The tips of his ears begin to burn with embarrassment. “Why aren’t you out there?”  
  
Cas stiffens. “I’m not interested,” he replies and Dean knows it’s a lie. Cas wants kids and a family more than anything and the reason why Cas thinks that he can’t ever have that, why Gabriel was upset when he learned Dean was living with Cas, why Cas can go hot and cold like a switch--is all so painfully obvious now.   
  
Cas is gay.  
  
The idea that societies exist where this is even an issue, often rooted deeply in religious indoctrination--that Cas has hinted to being opposed to--makes Dean’s blood boil but there’s little he can do beyond cause a scene and embarrass Cas. He’d much rather get out of here and go back to the little farmhouse where they’re free to be themselves.  
  
“Okay, you know what?” Dean plucks at Cas’ sleeve to get his attention. “This party is lame. I say we steal some food for the ride home and go have our own party.”  
  
Cas looks at him with such tremendous relief and gratitude that Dean feels like an ass for asking him to come out here in the first place. He may not have pushed it hard but he knew deep down inside that Cas wouldn’t deny his request. And he asked _knowing_ Cas was uncomfortable with the crowd.   
  
The mood between them shifts into something less strained and a lot more playful. By the time they get outside and find Mist and the buggy, they’re breathless and giddy. They climb up onto the bench and steer her toward home.  
  
“That could’ve been a scene in a porno.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief that that is how people here actually hook up, like some cultish mass wedding ceremony.  
  
“A porno?” Cas asks, wrinkling his nose.   
  
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin trying to explain what that is to you,” Dean says with a chuckle. But he wants to explain. Not necessarily to explain porn but to explain who Dean is and where he actually comes from.   
  
Tonight’s discoveries have made Dean realize that he understands Cas so much more profoundly and the scales are unbalanced. He’s given up any hope of Atlantis coming to rescue him and so if he hopes to stay in Cas’ life more permanently, he can’t live a lie. He doesn’t _want_ to live a lie.  
  
They continue riding on, picking at fruit and eating the sandwiches as they put the barn further and further behind them. It’s grown dark and colder but the triple moons are luminous orbs in the sky, lighting the way just enough.  
  
“Do you ever wonder what is up there?” Cas says quietly.  
  
Stars--suns and planets really--twinkle and glow up above them. “No, Cas, I don’t.”  
  
“It’s silly, isn’t it?  
  
Dean licks his lips. It’s do or die time. “It’s not. I don’t wonder about what’s out there because I may know a thing or two about space.”  
  
“Oh, you do, do you?” Cas smiles softly.  
  
“Yeah.” Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Cas, I gotta tell you something and I don’t know how. You’ll think I’m nuts.”  
  
Cas’ smile dims. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me,” he says earnestly.  
  
“Cas, first thing you gotta understand is why I haven’t said anything until now. You’ll probably feel hurt or get mad but I had other people to think about and protect.”  
  
“Your private business has always been your business. You don’t have to explain that to me.”  
  
“Yes, I do. Look, there’s a reason I’d never seen a horse before and why I burned so many meals that I tried to make. Cas, I’m not from over the mountains. I’m from far, far above them. I’m from another world.”   
  
Dean watches and waits for Cas to react or say something but he stares ahead passively.  
  
“You don’t believe me.”  
  
“I’m finding it difficult to understand why you would make this claim, yes.”  
  
“Think about it. My clothes, my necklaces,” Dean says, referring to both the dog tag and the piece that Jo gave him. “How about the fact that I think going around sniffing people is weird? And my idea of dancing, Cas, wasn’t what I saw back there.”  
  
Cas gives him a long look. “It would explain--” His voice trails off. “But your--you look like a person, like me.” Cas slaps the reins and Mist picks up the pace. “It explains why you’re not an Alpha or an Omega.” Cas sits up straighter and takes a shaky breath. “Dean, you’re _not an Alpha._ ”  
  
“I think we’ve established that more than a few times.”  
  
“Yes, but now it makes sense.” Cas is practically trembling, his hands involuntarily shaking the reins a little.   
  
“Do you need a minute? Maybe you should pull over.”  
  
“Yes, that would be a good idea,” Cas murmurs. “A very good idea.”  
  
The buggy jerks and bounces when Mist drags it off the paved dirt road and into grassy terrain and instead of stopping, she keeps walking toward a large apple grove.  
  
“I said pull over, not go off-roading,” Dean complains, his teeth clacking. Maybe he can make some shock absorbers to put on this damn thing.  
  
“This is good here. Whoa, Mist, whoa.” Cas tugs on the reins and hops out when the buggy rolls to a gentle stop so he can tie her to a tree. Even though they haven’t been riding long, Dean decides to jump down and stretch his legs, nearly colliding into Cas when he turns around.  
  
“Dean, I’m going to ask you something and if you say no, we can leave and nothing has to change. But if you say yes…” Cas swallows and his eyes gleam in the moons-lights. “Would you dance with me?”  
  
“Uh, you mean like your kind of dancing?”  
  
“What other kind of dancing is there?”  
  
“Lots, actually.”  
  
“Later. You can tell me or show me later.” With imploring eyes, Cas tips his head to the side in a gesture of invitation.  
  
Instead of going at it and pretending he even wants to smell the guy, Dean steps closer and lifts his chin, letting Cas scent him to his heart’s content. But his eyes roll closed when the tip of Cas’ tongue trails up his neck. He can’t stand it anymore. Dean grasps Cas’ face and kisses him.  
  
When they pull back in surprise, Cas chuckles breathlessly.   
  
_Ultimately, the Omega chooses._  
  
“I choose you.”


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN   
  
  
Their relationship explodes overnight, in all the best ways. They were already a great team, working in tandem like perfected choreography, but now they are and they are desecrating every surface of Cas’ homestead if it’s the last thing that Dean does.   
  
“How are you  _ so wet _ ?” Dean whispers in Cas’ ear before gently biting his ear lobe. He doesn’t know how Cas does it or what he uses but the guy is always incredibly well prepped.   
  
“You’re very crude,” Cas says, arching his back.    
  
“You like it.”   
  
“Shut up and fuck me.”   
  
Dean smirks. “I think I’ve been a very bad influence on you...”  
  
  
  
Trying to find a hiding place in a small, one-room house is not an easy feat but Dean has managed to do it. In the chest at the end of the bed are Dean’s Lantean clothes and the things that were found on his person--minus one personal shield emitter that he’s never seen again--and beneath those…   
  
“Cas, I have something for you. C’mere and sit down.” Dean pats the mattress tick and waits for Cas to sit before he goes to the chest and begins carefully removing the other clothes and items that get chucked in there.   
  
He pulls out a small wooden box and holds it out, a little embarrassed at its simplistic and amateurish design.    
  
“Thank you.” Cas takes the box and turns it over in his hands. “What is it?”   
  
Dean laughs and plucks it out of Cas’ hands, removing the very snug lid (hey, tools were limited, he did the best he could) and revealing the mechanics inside and passes it back.   
  
“This piece here is the key. Wind it up. No, turn it the other way.”   
  
Cas cranks the tiny metal rod sticking out the side and lets go. Tinny, halting music notes begin to play as a round drum slowly turns and prongs glide across raised notches.    
  
“It’s a music box,” Dean explains.    
  
“You… made this?”   
  
Dean scratches at the back of his neck, more self-conscious than he thought he’d be. “Uh, yeah. I actually started a long time ago. Got some pieces from Gadreel and worked on it while you were out catching babies.”   
  
“Dean,” Cas says with awe, long fingers trailing over the different parts. His eyes shimmer when he looks up at Dean with such undeserved adoration that it hurts. “Thank you.”   
  
  
  
A few weeks later they need to make a supply run before a cold front moves in and coats everything in a layer of ice. Out of everything he’s endured, Dean dreads the wintertime the most. On Atlantis, they have a regulated atmosphere so the drastic drop in temperature in the last week has been a shock to his system. Cas is feeling under the weather already, too, sluggish and nauseated from time to time.   
  
“Hey, Gabe,” Dean says, pulling the general store’s door behind him and Cas with a sound thud. He rubs his hands together roughly.   
  
“Deano,” Gabriel calls out jovially. “And the baby brother. To what do I owe the pleasure?”   
  
“Just the usual.”   
  
“Honey sales were through the roof so you’ve built up store credit and then some. Anything else you need besides milled flour, soap, and nails?” Gabriel sniffles loudly and frowns.   
  
“Make sure to include my spices.” Cas peruses a shelf and picks out a small tin of salve. “I got a bushel of apples from Michael the other day that we need to can.”   
  
“You got it, Cassie.” Gabe sniffles again and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. He shakes it out and blows hard into it.    
  
“You okay, man?” Dean asks.   
  
“I was fine until you guys came in here. It smells like--” Gabriel tilts his head like he’s seen Cas do a hundred times. It’s about the only time he’s seen a resemblance between them. “I’m gonna kill him,” he says darkly, turning sharp eyes on Dean.   
  
One minute Dean is standing there and the next, Cas is yelling, “Gabriel, no,” and he’s flat on his back with an angry little store owner sitting on his chest.   
  
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Gabriel grabs fistfuls of Dean’s shirt and shakes him. He’s freakishly strong but between Dean trying to buck him off and Cas pulling on his brother, they manage to get Gabriel off. The three men face off, panting heavily.   
  
“What the hell was that?” Dean spits.   
  
“You told me he wasn’t an Alpha,” Gabe says to Cas. “You told me you’d never take a mate. So tell me who in this room is carrying a child ‘cause it ain’t me and the best guess I’ve got is the Omega.”   
  
Dean has had about enough and says so. “This isn’t any way to treat customers, especially your brother.”   
  
“You--you don’t get to talk to me right now. You’ve sentenced him to death.”   
  
For a second it doesn’t compute. Dean blinks a few times and looks at Cas, then Gabe, and back to Cas who looks like he wants to hurl.    
  
“Gabriel, are you sure?” Cas asks weakly.    
  
“My nose has never failed me once.”   
  
“Maybe it was someone else, before we came in here,” Cas suggests.   
  
“Oh yeah,” Gabriel says sarcastically, “because Naomi is still of child-bearing age.”   
  
“Are you trying to tell me he’s knocked up?” Dean gestures toward Cas and the other two men stare at him blankly. “He’s a guy, he can’t get pregnant.”   
  
“Uh, he’s an Omega so, yes, you manure-sucking piece of shit, he can.”   
  
It’s so stupidly ignorant that it’s laughable and Dean starts laughing so hard he has to lean on a barrel of dried beans to keep himself upright.   
  
“This isn’t funny, Dean.”   
  
“And this is not how biology works. Cas, I get it. You identify as an Omega and that’s cool with me, I’ve already told you. But liking guys and, ya know, bottoming doesn’t mean you can get pregnant.”   
  
“Oh good,” Gabriel says brightly. “He’s a moron.”   
  
“Gabriel, enough. He doesn’t understand and that’s not his fault.” Cas rubs at his forehead, probably wishing he was anywhere but here. “Dean, I don’t know how this happened, either. I thought that because you weren’t an Alpha, it could be different, that it’d be okay.”   
  
“You’re seriously buying what he’s selling,” Dean says, “because his nose told him so? You help other people have babies and know that that doesn’t work for men. We’re not built that way.”   
  
Instead of being blown away and groveling with gratitude for Dean’s insight and wisdom, Cas turns an extraordinary shade of angry pink and storms out.   
  
“I would let him go,” Gabe warns before Dean can even think about chasing after Cas. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, and I don’t really care, but you need a strong dose of reality. I’m taking you to Metatron.”   
  
  
  


“I was wondering when the infamous stranger from beyond would grace me with his presence,” are the first words Metatron greets Dean with. Gabriel decided to stay behind in his wagon because of whatever superstitious blah blah blah. 

“I wouldn’t say that I’m infamous,” Dean says uneasily. Right off the bat, Metatron rubs him the wrong way. 

Metatron hums in disagreement all while smiling. “Be that as it may, you’re here and I’m assuming it’s about—well, actually, it could be any number of things. You tell me and we’ll see if I’m right.”

“Books, Megamouth. A little birdie told me that you've got loads of them, including some world history.”

“Hoo, ooh,” Metatron laughs in delight. “That idiom is not one I ever expected to hear spoken. It’s old. Biblical, even.”

“Yeah, okay, not the point so let’s cut to the chase,” Dean says and Metatron’s grin only grows wider. “We rode a long way so can you help me or not?”

“Alright, sure. Why not?” 

“Cool,” Dean says and this time Metatron giggles. When Dean glares, the stout man forces himself to be serious though it’s clear he’s still fighting to hide his amusement. “So, I wanna know what this Omega business is about.”

Metatron rubs his hands together. “I see. But what could you possibly give me in return?”

“You want money?” Dean asks incredulously. “I just want to read them, not buy them.”

“Let me save you some time.” Metatron taps his temple. “It’s all up here. I can give you the abbreviated version in exchange for…”

“...for?” Dean prompts.    


“Let’s take this to my study.” Metatron leads the way to a room that is more of a small library than a humble home office, with rows and rows of bookcases.

“Holy shit.” Dean trails his fingers along the spines as they walk deeper into the room, his eyes on the numerous titles. Some seem familiar but he isn't completely sure until he finds ‘ _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ _ . “How the hell do you have a copy of this? Of any of these?”

“Funny story really,” Metatron says, taking a seat behind a large, handmade desk. 

“Better start telling it before I blow the horn on whatever you’re hiding from these people. What’s the big secret with the mountain and why are you protecting it? Hoarding all of this info? How did these people get here?”

Metatron scoffs. “What secrets? Nothing has been kept from them as much as they haven’t sought the truth. I let you in here of all people, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it, though? You don’t really want to be here. You don’t  _ belong _ here. You came to my home to find answers to your many fascinating questions, I’ll give you that, but you’ve failed to ask for the answer to the biggest mystery of all.  _ How do I get home? _ ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know that you’re not from here and the only person you’ve been honest with doesn’t actually believe you.” Metatron lowers his voice to a taunting whisper. “How could he not think that you've lost a few marbles?” Metatron brightens. “Ah, my turn for a poetic turn of phrase. Do the people on your planet still have marbles?”

Dean blanches and his stomach bottoms out. Metatron somehow knows  _ everything _ .

“Our time is half over, Dean. Perhaps you’d like to rethink what it is you want to talk about.”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Tick tock. Haven’t got all day. Do we really want to dissect Shakespeare’s works or--” 

“Okay, okay.” Dean refocuses. “I need history on these people. Do you have medical journals?”

Metatron brightens. “I do. And it would appear you have a very specific dilemma of a delicate nature to remedy. Been busy, have we, Dean?”

“Shut it, Metadouche.”

“Oh,” Metatron giggles. “Oh, oh. Now that’s not nice. It’s a good thing I’m such a great guy. Now are you ready to deal?”

“Hit me with it.”

“It would appear that I have the answers to two of your more burning issues. I give you the information, specifically on cesarean surgeries, and you get to leave.”   
  
“So it’s true then. All Omegas, even Cas, can get pregnant?”   
  
“Mm, yes. Castiel is not the first male Omega but no one alive remembers the last time one existed. Excruciatingly,” Metatron says emphatically, “slow and painful death when he couldn’t physically birth his child.”   
  
Dean watches in disbelief as Metatron opens a desk drawer and pulls out a small black box.    
  
“Take this long range distress beacon and leave when your people come to fetch you.”

“Where did you get that?”

“Question time is over, Dean,” Metatron says firmly, all trace of his amusement in dealing is gone. “It’s time to deal.”

“How is this a good deal for you? You get nothing out of it.”

Metatron appears affronted. “Au contraire. Did you forget that Castiel and the people of this world are  _ my _ people? I want to save him as much as you do, maybe more. And part of doing that requires that you leave. This isn’t where you belong.”

“What’s to stop me from taking him with me?”

“Ah, but you won’t. There is so much you don’t understand about him.” Metatron rocks back on his heels and regards Dean with pity. “It’s much deeper than physiology. Omegas need _Alphas_ to survive. I suppose you did delay the inevitability of sweet Castiel’s death by giving him a so-so, temporary alternative but, I mean, you must see firsthand how you fall short. But don’t be dismayed,” Metatron encourages. “That’s evolutionary biology, not personal.”   
  
The black box, small enough to fit in Dean’s pocket, is slid across the desk with the push of two fingers, Metatron’s stare boring into him and imploring him to take the deal.   
  
“And once you help nudge my people in the direction of advanced medical surgery so that they can perform life-saving cesareans, he won’t need _you_. Castiel will find a nice Alpha to settle down with and have dozens of babies as our gods intended.”

The answer is right in front of him and so simple. 

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Metatron smiles slowly and removes his fingers from the box so Dean can take it. “Marvelous. Now, I’ll go get those journals. Don’t want to keep you. You’ve got a lot of people to save.”  
  
The eerie way he says it skitters across Dean’s flesh and his hairs raise. He looks over at the bookcase again, filled with books from  _ Earth _ .    
  
The same foods. The same language (mostly). The smallish community filled with people of different ethnicities when it doesn’t make sense for them to be this diversely intermingled at his time in their history...

“This is all wrong. What else are you hiding?” Dean demands. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Metatron’s eyes bulge at the sudden change in Dean’s tone and he holds his hands up in self defense. 

“Nothing adds up. You said something about your gods intentions and if there’s anything I know, religion is a way to keep people in check. So what’s the bottom line, huh?”

Metatron’s act of being afraid falls away, a smile creeping onto his face. “It doesn’t matter. You're too late. You took the distress device.”

“What kind of moron do you think I am? I took it but didn’t turn it on. Why the hell would I risk leading an enemy here?” Dean smirks. “Looks like you’re the moron for not thinking that one through.”

Metatron struggles a minute with the effort to hold back some emotion except that to Dean’s surprise, he bursts out laughing instead of yelling in anguish that his little plan was foiled.

“Now that’s funny,” he sputters. “ _ You _ don’t need the on/off switch, do you, Dean? It’s Lantean technology.”

“No.”  _ Nonononono _ . “Turn it off. Tell me how to turn it off.”

Metatron continues to grin but makes no move to help, doesn’t understand the threat out there. 

“Something bad, real bad, will come here and destroy you all. They’re called Leviathan and they feed on people,” he tries to explain but the way Metatron looks back at him in a placatingly patient manner tells him enough. “Wait, you want them to come.”

Metatron leans forward and whispers, “I make sure their little piggies don't come sniffing for the master's table. I guard their gate. They’re already here.”

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

The sky is one large grey cloud obscuring the suns and coating everything in dullness by the time Dean returns home.  
  
“Cas, Castiel,” Dean calls, coming to a skidding halt in front of Mist’s stable. He didn't find him in the house and he’s not in here either. They’re running out of time and he doesn’t even know how or why or what to do. All he knows that he needs to get Cas and they need to hide.   
  
As he runs to the treeline and keeps calling, his breath comes out in quick little puffs of white air.   
  
He’s coming to about the spot where Cas found him those few months ago when he finally sees him. Cas is kneeling on the ground, dark head bowed.   
  
“Cas,” Dean gasps. “What’re you doing? I’ve been looking everywhere for--”   
  
Slowly, Cas turns around, his face illuminated by a haze of green light.   
  
“I--I was upset and needed to work so I began clearing out more brush when I found this,” Cas explains. “I touched it and it started glowing but I can’t get it off now.”   
  
“Okay, it’s gonna be okay,” Dean pants. “It’s mine. It’s kinda how I got here.”   
  
“Is it safe?”   
  
“Yes but no.” Dean frowns. “C’mon, let’s go back to the house and I’ll try to explain every--”   
  
The loud whistle of an aircraft whizzes by and Dean just makes out the long, pointed nose of a Wraith dart.   
  
“What was that?”   
  
“Bad, Cas. Very, very bad. We need to hide.”   
  
“What about everyone else? We need to warn them.”   
  
“Don’t pull your chivalry, white knight bullshit on me now. You, me, safety, now.”   
  
The worst part about the device’s function is that when Dean tries to grab Cas’ arm to drag him if need be, the invisible forcefield is like slamming into a wall of naquada, one of the strongest metals known to him and what the Stargates are made from.   
  
“There’s no time, Cas. How would we even reach everyone?”   
  
Another dart flies by, its unmistakable screech like nails on a chalkboard.   
  
The sight and sound of it being a little closer kicks Cas into action and they keep to the treeline as they run.   
  
The dart flies by again. Dean can’t tell if it’s the same one that is scouting or if there are multiple ships. They all look the same and they all have some pretty terrifying functions. There’s the obvious one in that it has an energy weapon that can shoot people and other ships. But it also has the ability to transport many people aboard like a space vacuum, storing them in stasis until they’re released.   
  
To their left, a tree explodes. There’s no time to scream or react except to redirect their course, sending them a little closer to the open field and away from trees.   
  
Ahead of them, a beam of light from a dart cuts across the land. Dean instinctively tries to grab for Cas again but is met with resistance as before and they both stumble to a stop. Instead of a weapon, however, this beam is the transport and it’s deposited a dozen of Cas’ people onto the ground in varied states of confusion and anger.   
  
The dart makes a landing behind them. It’s the Leviathan ahead and trees behind. “Cas, make a run for it,” Dean urges.   
  
“They’ve got Gabriel,” Cas says, pointing to a shaggy head furthest away from them.   
  
The wraith jumping down from his ship behind Gabe is tall with ghastly green skin and long white hair. By the time he grabs Cas’ brother and shoves a hand over his heart, more Leviathan are landing on Cas’ fields. Another marches over and grabs Uriel.   
  
The wraith have come to feed.   
  
“No,” Cas yells as Gabriel’s once normal color drains away and his skin shrivels like a raisin in the sun. He tries to rush forward but trips and falls to his knees. Dean tries to go after Cas but a large, reptilian-like hand closes around his arm and forces him to turn around.   
  
“Where do you think you’re going?” the creature slurs, leaning in to sniff at Dean.   
  
“Let him go,” Cas bellows.   
  
But it’s futile. Nothing that they say or do will stop them from taking what they want. The wraith knows it and smirks, lifting his hand to reveal the feeding vent on his palm.   
  
“Wait, that’s the one Metatron woke us up about,” another wraith interrupts. His hair is braided. “The Queen wants him alive so he can watch what we do when Atlantis comes to answer the distress call.”   
  
“How do you even know Atlantis is going to come, huh?” Dean taunts.   
  
“You activated it, therefore you have the gene and your energy signature is in the call.” Braids cocks his head and sneers. “You’re a long way from home, human. Imagine how relieved your loved ones will be, how many of them will want to board the ship to come and rescue you.”   
  
“You bastards,” Dean seethes.   
  
“I do love this concept of farming and having the food come to me. Makes it so much more pleasurable. Hunting can make food… gamey.”   
  
The first wraith notices the green shield emitter and points at it. “Clever little pest. But as I understand it, this is your mate and I may have a nice little trick that’ll get that to come right off.”   
  
The collision of the wraith hand against Dean’s chest is an unexpected wrecking ball of pain. Dean gets the very breath knocked out of him and can’t inhale or exhale.   
  
Just as suddenly as it began, it stops, and Dean gulps in air greedily.   
  
Braids laughs heartily, holding up the disabled shield emitter. He scared Cas into deactivating it. Which doesn’t make sense since it’s motivated by fear. Unless…   
  
The wearer is less concerned about themselves and becomes more scared for someone else...   
  
“Leave him alone,” Dean gasps, realizing how vulnerable Cas is now. “Take me. Take Atlantis. Just let him go, okay?”   
  
Braids keeps laughing and the other half dozen wraith join in circling around him and Cas. The bodies of the townspeople are husks in the background.   
  
“Cas, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” He reaches out to take Cas’ hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Cas doesn’t even know most of what’s going on and he’ll never have a chance to explain.   
  
The wraith laughter is dying down now and one begins to clear his throat. Then another. It continues on around the circle until one grabs his stomach and begins puking blood.   
  
“What is happening?” Braids claws at his own chest. “They’ve poisoned us. How? How?” he screams before a coughing fit sends him to his knees and he dies a minute later, red spittle running down his chin.   
  
“Dean?” Cas hesitantly says when all seven wraith are done twitching and lie still. “Are we safe?”   
  
“There are more.” He looks over at the mountain range. “More will come. We need to get out of here.”   
  
They’re still holding hands and they break out into a run for the stable, ignoring the corpses littered everywhere.   
  
“How would you finally like to ride?” Cas asks, grabbing Mist’s gear and hastily making her ready.   
  
“I’d say it’s never too late, not when we’re being chased by albino leeches with really bad hair.”   
  
Cas is buckling the last buckle when they hear a commotion outside and Dean hurriedly tells him to hush and not make any noise. They stealthily move toward the door and peer out.   
  
A cylindrical shaped mass of metal is sitting outside. Another ship. Four people in tactical gear step out of it and look around warily.   
  
Atlantis.   
  
Dean throws the stable door open and darts outside, heading for the puddle jumper and to his people who are scratching their heads over the sight of several dead wraith.   
  
“You can’t park here,” he hollers. “Can I help you people?”   
  
Four guns turn on him in a heartbeat and he comes to an abrupt halt, lifting his hands to show he’s unarmed.   
  
“Dean?”   
  
Jo is almost unrecognizable with the all black ensemble and vest, hair pulled up tight under a ball cap, and sunglasses shielding her eyes. But Dean knows that voice.   
  
“Lower your weapons,” she orders. And then she’s storming toward him, wrapping him in a hug. “I thought you were dead. We all thought…”   
  
“I know, I’m sorry. Glad to see you made it out.”   
  
“Thanks to you. Sam made it, too. He's waiting in a ship that's orbiting the planet. Figured you'd kick my ass if I let him come down here when we were aware that there'd be wraith activity.” Jo pulls back and smiles. He can’t see her eyes but he knows they’re watery and that she’s trying to maintain composure for her crew. “You look, wow.”   
  
“Dean?” Cas touches his shoulder.   
  
He clears his throat. "So, introductions. I don’t know the three fellas with her but this here is one of my oldest--”   
  
“Hey,” Jo complains.   
  
“--oldest friends, Jo. She was acting captain on the ship that I was on before I crashed here.” He smiles and takes a step closer to Cas. “Jo, this is Castiel.”   
  
Jo and Cas shake hands. “Castiel, nice to meet you. And, Dean,” she says seriously, “on behalf of Stargate Command, let me be the first to congratulate you on finding and saving the lost descendants of the original Stargate crew.” 


	13. EPILOGUE

“So let me get this straight.” Dean rocks back on his chair. He’s sitting with Jo, Sam, and a few other crew members around a table on Valor 2.0. He’s showered, fed, and finally heading home. “Almost a thousand years ago, the Leviathan took over the Atlantis base, brought everyone to this planet, and then experimented on them to make them disease resistant baby breeders? But they genetically modified them so much, they ended up making their own food supply poisonous?”  
  
“That’s about it in the most simplistic way it could be put, yes,” Jo confirms.   
  
“That’s poetic justice is what it is,” Bobby says.   
  
“Okay, so what was up with the Metatron guy protecting them?”   
  
“He was dead when we arrived. It would appear the wraith Queen fed on him and she died shortly after.” Bobby leans forward. “Best I can guess, since those wraith hibernate for centuries while waiting for their food supply to fatten up to big enough numbers to go around, he was promised something from them if he kept anymore people from wandering over the mountain and into the hive ship parked there. Don’t know what, don’t care. Ding dong, the Queen is dead. That’s what matters.”   
  
“The other wraith are still out there, though,” Jo says. “They scurried off when they realized their Queen was dead and how but what will stop them from starting over?”   
  
Sam taps a finger on the table, expression thoughtful. “We synthesize a bio weapon and go after them. They, sadly,” Sam pats Dean’s shoulder sympathetically, “killed a few people when they woke up but there are millions more people on that planet that we could--”   
  
“No way,” Dean says, shrugging Sam’s hand off. “Their ancestors were lab rats and they were basically cattle in pens, waiting for a slaughter they didn’t even know was coming. Why would we--?”   
  
Sam cuts him off. “Hell no, not like that. Dean, listen. Scientific research relies heavily on the consent of people to provide what’s needed. The ones who want to volunteer blood, bone marrow, or whatever we may need can do so. I’d never force anyone.”   
  
“He’s right,” Bobby says. “We can do it the right way and hopefully rid the galaxy of this vermin once-and-for-all.”   
  
“I’ll run it by Cas, see what he thinks.”   
  
“You mean your _mate_?” Sam teases and starts chortling.   
  
“Shut it.” If Dean had had his way, he might not have mentioned that whole thing right off the bat but Cas took it upon himself to make sure people knew that Dean was his.   
  
He still isn’t entirely sure he knows what mate fully means but it sounds like a forever kinda thing and everyone else seems to understand that, too.   
  
Especially when they were swept into the infirmary for physicals and Lisa, giddy as a schoolgirl on prom night, confirmed that Cas was indeed pregnant. She said she’d seen male pregnancy on another planet before, encouraging them that they would be in good hands if Cas came back to Atlantis.   
  
It didn’t take a lot to convince Cas to come home with him at that point.   
  
“Already, everybody dismissed,” Bobby says, scooting his chair back and getting up. He lays a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Good to have you back, son.”   
  
Dean immediately goes to his room, the door gliding open on a whisper. Cas is where he left him, curled up on the bed and fast asleep. All of the stress of and then coming aboard a spaceship with all of its amenities was enough to wear Cas out.   
  
Turning down the light, Dean slips out of his boots and slides into bed.   
  
“You’re back,” Cas whispers sleepily.   
  
“Always.”   
  
Yeah, pretty sure it’s a forever kind of thing.


End file.
